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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457735">Stuck With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gglow/pseuds/gglow'>gglow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Backstory, Bad Dreams, Blowjobs, Boys Kissing, Coming Out, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Going on Dates, Head Auror Harry Potter, Italy, Kissing, Lawyer Hermione Granger, M/M, Memory Magic, Oral Sex, Pining, Slow Burn, Teasing, Weasley Family Dinners (Harry Potter), Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, draco malfoy an independent shop owner, going to pubs, harry and ron getting drunk, harry wanting kids, illegal memory potions, sucking cock, talking about school, talking about the war, tuscany</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:26:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>135,891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gglow/pseuds/gglow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As if Harry didn’t have his hands full already, Draco Malfoy has made a comeback from the dead to torment him. However, this is not the Malfoy he knows, this one apologises to him occasionally, and his blasted tanned skin and gold-streaked hair are unknowingly making Harry want things he shouldn’t want. He’s just trying to do his job.</p><p>It’s been ten years since Harry defeated Voldemort. He has been promoted to Head Auror a year ago, and now into his arms there has fallen a case of illegal memory potions being sold. If he wasn’t busy enough as it was, somehow Draco Malfoy has managed to tangle his name up in the case, and neither of them seem to get rid of the other, no matter how hard they try.<br/>Harry is plagued by the realization that while everyone else’s life moves forward, his doesn’t seem to do so, and there aren’t many people who understand what he’s been through. Unfortunately, that one blond tosser with his sneering manner is managing to slowly make himself feel like an inevitability.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy &amp; Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>261</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello dear reader :)</p><p>i had been brewing this fic in my mind for months before i decided to write it as a quarantine pastime, and even so it turned out to be quite the story, so i decided to start publishing already, and i'll put out new chapters as i'm writing them, bear with me!</p><p>thank you to trina for being my proof-reader and my hype man, coming up with names and twists and all sorts when i was lost with the plot, could not have done it without you &lt;3</p><p>the usual disclaimers apply: these characters belong to j.k. rowling exclusively, and i am merely borrowing them for this figment of my imagination.</p><p>so let’s dive right in...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Narcissa Malfoy to be released from Azkaban this Thursday.</em> A giant moving picture of her mug shot being taken covered the whole front page of the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, and the massive title hovered above it. Draco folded the paper from his hands and placed it downwards on the sticky table in front of him so that he didn’t have to look at his mother’s empty eyes staring out of the picture. He was sitting at a booth of a small muggle pub somewhere in London, waiting for his engagement to arrive. Draco thought that choosing a muggle pub may have been a mistake, when he gave an unsympathetic glance at the place – all the tables and chairs were painted black, the dirty windows permitted only scarce sunlight to illuminate the dust that had stuck to the sticky coating that covered almost every inch of every surface in this Merlin forsaken place. Clientele was ample on a late afternoon, and the bartender seemed to only be continually polishing one area of the bar with his dirty rag. Unfortunately, this was a good place for him to show his face, among muggles who couldn’t have known who he was, during dinner time in the crowd, the perfect place to hide while still in public, even though Draco had to restrain himself from casting a cleaning charm on the place and then on himself for being there. He had only been in London a handful of times after leaving nearly ten years ago, and did not fancy showing his face in the wizarding community after his father being locked up in Azkaban for being a Death Eater for the rest of his miserable years. His mother receiving nine long years for aiding in the atrocities. He had almost faced the same sentence, if it wasn’t for–</p><p>Now a short man entered the pub, and after performing a quick sour scan of the place, recognized Draco sitting at one of the booths and scurried over quickly. They shared an uncomfortable greeting. The man was in his fifties, wearing old but neat black robes and carrying a flat briefcase.</p><p>This was a meeting Draco wanted to get over with quickly, not only because of the unpleasant environment, but also because he did not find dealing with English wizarding folk overly pleasant in the last ten years. Now the man in front of him opened his beat-up briefcase to pull out pieces of parchment, a quill, and some ink.</p><p>“Now, Mr. Malfoy, sir, there are only a few places for you to sign, the seller has already done so, as you will find,” said the man, spreading the parchments on the table in front of Draco, “here is the deed to the house, detailing the features of the lot, as well as the few movables that come with it, you’re welcome to have a look once more…” he continued timidly and started uncorking the ink. Draco had already gone over the paperwork a thousand times, but made sure that Narcissa Malfoy was listed as the primary owner of the property, and him as the co-owner.</p><p>“Everything is in order I’m sure,” Draco said simply, and signed the two papers. He handed the real-estate agent his quill back and slid over to himself the third piece of parchment with the property information. The documents were creased from being shoved in a briefcase and Draco instinctively started to smooth out the edges. The real-estate agent placed the other signed paper in his briefcase and looked a bit unsure what to do next.</p><p>“I assume this concludes our business,” Draco asserted and looked the man in the eye. He wanted to get this business over with as swiftly as possible, so that he could get his mother to her new home the next day. After Voldemort had been defeated, the Ministry had determined the Malfoy Manor to be a crime scene, and closed it for use, permanently. They had only allowed Draco to fetch some personal belongings, thoroughly checked for dark magic of course, after declaring that it will never be in private use again. Draco felt ill at the idea of his home being turned into some kind of a war memorial in the future.</p><p>Now the man was getting up from the booth. “Right, right,” he shuffled, “I will be sure to get the copy of the deed to the previous owner.” He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but decided against it. Draco was relieved at that.</p><p>“Brilliant,” he said dryly, “I will owl Gringotts this evening with an order to transfer the money.” The man nodded awkwardly and with a swish of a well-worn cloak, he was off.</p><p>Draco had gained access to his parents’ vault at Gringotts after they had both been sentenced to prison, although a very heavy fine had been extracted for repairs of wizarding London, also determined in their respective trials. Draco had never had his own vault, and he had quite shamelessly borrowed some of his parents’ money to move abroad and to eventually start his own business. Now he used some of the remaining money to buy his mother a house in London, in a quiet wizarding neighbourhood. It was nothing compared with the Manor, but, Draco believed, quite an improvement to a cell in Azkaban. The house was the last one in a row of adjoined houses, with two floors and a little garden. He hoped Narcissa would like it.</p><p>Just when Draco was about to get out of the booth and leave the foul pub behind, there was a loud bang in the middle of the room, and a bunch of Aurors flooded the muggle establishment. Draco instinctively withdrew to the shadows in the corner of the booth and pressed his back against the wall, this was quite literally the last thing he wanted. He had just wanted to come to London in order to help his mother get adjusted and then leave as quickly as he arrived. Now Draco had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite so simple.</p><p>A man jumped off of a bar stool and tried to flee, but he got tangled up in his robes and one of the Aurors stunned him with a swish of his wand. The other muggles stared at the sight in disbelief, and some near the door tried to escape the scene. Another Auror waved his wand, blocking all the exits: pieces of wood ripped from the floor and nailed themselves in front of the door and the windows. This caused the customers to panic and the volume in the pub raised rapidly, as one of the Aurors went to grab the Stupefied man.</p><p>“Confundo!” shouted a dreadfully familiar-sounding voice from a man that had Apparated into the scene last. The people in the pub fell silent immediately, and a blissful confusion spread to their face, as if meeting a very old acquaintance that they can’t quite place. Draco felt his insides shrivel up and raise to his throat as a vomit, he could already taste it in his mouth. The one person he never ever wanted to hear another word about held his wand high and Draco had to cast a silent Protego in order to not get Confunded like the rest. He did not move from where he was pressed against the wall.</p><p>“Merlin, Evergrey! What have I told you about crowd control? Especially with muggles,” huffed Potter, slipping his wand back into his robes. He looked almost exactly the same as when Draco had last seen him as part of the Wizengamot ten years ago. Potter’s hair was thick and dark, disordered from the Apparition, his glasses were still the same. The only difference was that he was wearing the robes of Head Auror – Draco remembers hearing about it and not being surprised, unbearably lawful Potter, of course he was an Auror that absolute tosser – the robes were decorated discreetly with silver patterns running along the edges and gathering to surround the collar of the robe. His boots were polished. Potter looked very much like himself, just more put together, which really irritated Draco. Why does <em>Potter</em> get to have it all? Wanker probably already lived in a mansion with that redhead Weasley and their ten kids, all the while acting, or probably truly being, a humble servant of the law who “never asked for any of it”. Potter’s endless obliviousness annoyed Draco beyond compare.</p><p>“Sorry Potter, there was no other way to get him,” the Auror named Evergrey apologized. He looked like he was waiting on orders, which invariably followed.</p><p>“Take Blackburn and Rivers to interview all these muggles. Make sure to Obliviate them afterward, don’t want what happened in Leadenhall to happen again, do we?” Potter crossed the distance of the sticky floor to the Auror who was carelessly lugging the stunned suspect in their arm. “McGallon, Buckthorn, take the names of the possible wizarding folk in this establishment and ask for them to come in tomorrow, I’ll interview them personally. Twigs and Crooker, you grab the suspect and we will return to the Ministry directly.”</p><p>Draco did not know <em>this</em> Harry Potter. For all their Hogwarts career he’d known Potter to be lazy, shiftless, and disorganized. Now he was strutting about the place as arrogantly as Draco had heard his father to be, and even though he loathed Potter to begin with, this new put-together version irked his nerve even further. How much more annoying he had become, Draco had to hold back a cringe.</p><p>The Aurors Twigs and Crooker Disapparated with a crack, dragging the limp suspect between them. Draco was still pressed against the wall, wanting to do the same, but somehow staying and observing the situation that was unfolding before him. Potter took a last glance around the atrocious pub, and the people standing in their places gave him a politely confused look. Until now he had been facing away from Draco, but as he turned around to scan the place before Disapparating, for a split second, his green eyes met Draco’s grey stare, or maybe Draco just imagined it, because when he blinked, Harry– no, <em>Potter</em>, was no longer there and only the crack of his Disapparition rung in Draco’s ears.</p><p>Even with hating, no,<em> despising</em>, Harry Potter and what he had become, Draco found himself still to be sitting there, at the booth, when one of the Aurors came to interview him, despite his many chances at Disapparating somewhere far, far away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Harry Potter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry stood in front of a full-body mirror in his house, straightening his work robes. They still felt too tight every time he wore them, too fancy. His wardrobe had always been on the modest side, first using Dudley’s old rags, and even after that he rarely went shopping for clothes, except for the two times Hermione had dragged him out of the house to freshen up his closet. The only nice clothes he had were work robes, and he didn’t choose those himself. Harry was glad that wizard fashion was just differently cut darkly coloured capes, basically.</p><p>Normally, he would show up to work in smart, simple robes, because his usual workday consisted of meetings and tall piles of paperwork. Sometimes, however, when he wanted to seem more authoritative than he was, when he left the Ministry on official business, or when, like today, he was personally interviewing witnesses, he opted for the official Head Auror robes.</p><p>Harry straightened the flowerpot sitting on a side table next to the mirror. The kitchen and the living room of his house were painted golden by the morning sunrays. After the trials Harry didn’t want to burden the Weasleys by staying with them indefinitely, so he made the difficult decision to sell 12 Grimmauld Place. It had too many memories attached to it for Harry to ever be happy living there. With the money he purchased his current home, on the other side of London, in a peaceful neighbourhood. It was a two-storied terrace house with neighbours on both sides, but he had a back garden where Neville had helped him plant some low maintenance greens. The entrance hall was narrow, but Harry had managed to fit a closet and a neat little chair left of the door against the stairs. Charlie Weasley had sent him an exotic looking rug from Romania, which was now decorating the hardwood floor of the hallway. On the other side of the house were the living room and the kitchen with its little dining area with huge windows facing the garden, upstairs were Harry’s bedroom and a large bathroom.</p><p>Now Harry tried to loosen the tight collar of the robe with his finger, peering into the mirror, and just opted to open the uppermost button in order to breathe. The silver embroidery of the jacket was scratchy against his neck, and he thought that the decorated buttons were too much, but the black robes also made him look official and esteemed. He picked a hair out of the outer robe and strode over to the fireplace in his living room. Harry grabbed some Floo-powder from a decorative pot on top of the sill, and was quickly off in a flash of green fire.</p><p>Harry was in the habit of taking the Floo Network to the Atrium of the Ministry instead of his private fireplace, because he didn’t want to seem too distant, and frankly favoured the muggle way of mingling and saying good mornings to one’s co-workers, instead of just going straight to sulking in his office. Now he was walking across the space doing just that, asking people how they were and making his way into level two of the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.</p><p>Ever since in Hogwarts, Harry had wanted to be an Auror. In his seventh year, when they were hunting Horcruxes, and he couldn’t take his N.E.W.T.s, he had pretty much given up on that dream. To be fair, at that time Harry was barely thinking about surviving another day, or seeing his eighteenth birthday, let alone juggling career choices. It was all about defeating Voldemort, the rest would come second. And then, after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new Minister for Magic relaxed the entry requirements to allow anyone who had participated in the Battle without changing sides to make up for the lost Aurors, Harry was the first to apply to the three-year training right along Ron and Neville. However, a few years ago Neville was poached from the Aurors by McGonagall to start teaching herbology at Hogwarts. Harry couldn’t blame anyone who had had enough of fighting for one lifetime.</p><p>In the training, as difficult and strenuous as it had been, for the first time ever Harry had felt like he was actually good at something. He wasn’t just being lucky or surviving by the grace of friends more intelligent than him, but he was actually good. He felt like he was back in Dumbledore’s Army, but now there was someone teaching <em>him</em> new useful spells, how to be faster, stronger, more cunning, how to duel and how to use magic as an extension of oneself. Harry had always been kind of lanky, but the training had made him want to get stronger, to <em>be</em> stronger in battle. This had prompted him to join an honest-to-Merlin muggle gym, and after eight years, he wasn’t lanky anymore. Not only was he stronger and felt better, but he had gained a regular person hobby that he desperately yearned for after not having the opportunity to fly anymore.</p><p>After graduating from Auror training, top of his class mind you, Harry had worked for six years before being promoted as Head Auror about a year ago, when Isac Netherberry had retired. He felt honoured to be offered the position, and after some thought and a vigorous speech from Hermione about confidence and deserving things, Harry had accepted the chance he wanted to leap at in the first place.</p><p>However, being Head Auror had turned out to be a lot less field work and a lot more paperwork than expected. Harry still appreciated the job, and above all, valued and trusted his team of Aurors, and hoped that they felt the same way about him. For the first few years of his career he was still very tight with Ron and Hermione and some of the other people from Hogwarts, like Neville and Luna. But when Ron and Hermione started expecting their first child four years ago, right after his rather prolonged breakup with Ginny, he started to feel left out, to no one’s fault but his own, and more or less threw himself into his work. Around the same time, Ron quit working for the Ministry to spare Hermione’s nerves, and consented to George’s many requests to join him in running Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, further leaving Harry to his own.</p><p>For the past three years, Harry’s life had consisted of going to work and going to the gym. He dreaded weekends when he was alone, and following Ron and Hermione’s family life from a distance made him feel quite lonely and empty in his own life. As for Ginny, their breakup had started a year before they had actually parted ways, which made it all the more gruesome when it actually happened. The main reason for separating had been that they were simply too close as friends, and they both had to admit that the romantic attraction was gone: intimacy felt weird and forced, and they ended up having a long conversation one night, after which Ginny left, eyes dry.</p><p>Afterwards, Harry hadn’t really thought about dating anyone. He felt that he had gone through too much to ever have a stable relationship with anyone who hadn’t experienced the same things one way or another, and there were only a handful of people like that. How could he explain the reoccurring nightmares of Cedric Diggory’s brutal end or himself attacking Arthur Weasley in the Ministry as Voldemort to someone who had had a regular upbringing? With the words <em>Kill the spare!</em> or Arthur’s screams still echoing in his ears after waking up in cold sweat.</p><p>For these reasons and others, Harry couldn’t bring himself to ask anyone on a date, even though he did sneak an occasional peek of a butt at the gym. Once he had been caught by a blond bloke who had just smiled and winked at Harry from behind his weights. <em>Merlin’s beard,</em> Harry had blushed so hard that he had to leave, and only saw the same guy once or twice after that, but he always smiled at Harry, it was friendly. Too bad he was a muggle, it wouldn’t make much pillow talk to explain how at age seventeen he had to murder an ethnonationalist snake-man in order to preserve peace in the wizarding world, oh yeah and there was such a thing as a wizarding world. Harry was doomed to be alone forever.</p><p>Now he closed the heavy oak door to his office and faced the parchment calamity that he had left in his wake the day before, when he had had to quickly take off to supervise the arrest of a suspect in a case he was working on. Someone was selling dark magic laced memory potions that were not only extremely strong but increasingly unpredictable, which made them dangerous for use. Harry and some other Aurors were trying to track down sellers in order to get to the source. The man they arrested the previous day was the first solid lead they had had in weeks, and frankly the arrest could have been swifter, now Evergreen, Blackburn, and Rivers were tied up the whole afternoon interviewing and Obliviating muggles.</p><p>Harry cast an organizing charm on his parchments and they floated neatly in piles on every conceivable surface in his office. They were on the fireplace, on the two green lounge chairs and the side table, on his giant wooden desk and on the two brown wood and black leather chairs in front of his desk, on the window ledge and on top of his bookcase, some even had the audacity to settle on the red Indian rug when there was no more space left. The portrait of Theseus Scamander next to the fireplace, a previous Head Auror in the 1920s, was watching the parchments flying about, but didn’t say anything. Harry decided to not fight it and let the parchments sit where they were, he’d get to them later.</p><p>He then Accio’d the paperwork related to the case, simultaneously freeing one of the chairs in front of his desk for sitting. There were only a handful of wizarding folk who had been present, Harry saw from thumbing the five pages of statements in his hand. He only read the first one though, a witch named Isabel Rosewood; she had seen the whole thing, and now Harry wanted to know if the culprit had met anyone at the pub or spoken with anyone who might have been a contact of his. Harry ran a hand through his hair and straightened his robes before getting ready to welcome madam Rosewood into questioning.</p><p>***</p><p>Roughly six hours later Harry had managed to cram through four interviews, three witches and one wizard, who had been at the scene of the arrest. He had barely had time to have lunch between the third and the fourth interviewee, and was now feeling drained and sick of repeating the same questions over and over again. He had found some solid leads though, but they would have to wait until tomorrow, for there was still one interviewee left, and the clock was already past three.</p><p>Harry stood looking out of the window behind his desk, his back turned to the door. The Ministry was located underground, but the large window with its many panes was conjured to display London as it was seen from the tallest offices of the building they were under. Storm clouds were beginning to form in the skyline, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was displaying the current weather or his gloomy mood. He was holding the profile of the last wizard to be interviewed in his hand. He had also seen the man sitting at the bar, and had the most accurate description of the witch he had been talking with before the Aurors showed up. Now Harry had to find out whether he had seen something else of importance.</p><p>It was just too bad that that wizard was <em>Draco Malfoy</em>, of all the unfortunate souls who could have crossed Harry’s path. He had not thought about Malfoy for ten blissful years, after the Wizengamot had shipped his parents off to Azkaban. Harry had tried to get out of serving at their trial, there was just something about deciding the fate of a schoolmate, even if it was Draco sodding Malfoy, but the Wizengamot had been quite adamant about his participation. As much as he had hated Malfoy, Harry still preferred to not reminisce the trial where he had to attest to the atrocities Lucius had committed under Voldemort’s command, the colour escaping Draco’s already pale face. There was not much he could have done to help Narcissa either, except for testifying that when she could have told Voldemort that Harry was still alive in the forest, she didn’t. She was found guilty of aiding the Death Eaters.</p><p>For Draco, though, Harry had really played all his cards to get him to no time served in Azkaban. He testified that Draco was forced to become a Death Eater in order for Voldemort to punish Lucius for failing to obtain the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Harry turned into evidence Snape’s Pensieve memories of him and Dumbledore agreeing that when the time came, Snape should be the one to kill Dumbledore, not Draco. He had also told the judge directly, that he had been in the Astronomy Tower that night, and that if Draco had truly intended to kill Dumbledore, he would have gone ahead with it without hesitation. Harry also testified that Draco saved his life in the Malfoy Manor by lying that he could not recognize Harry after the Stinging Jinx Hermione had performed on him. All of this was luckily enough for the Wizengamot to be convinced of Draco’s relative innocence, and they only assigned a heavy fine on him for destruction of government property.</p><p>After the trial, Harry had not heard of what happened to Draco, and was quite content with him being a dickhead somewhere else. Now, however, Harry was holding a piece of parchment with Draco’s testimony, and knowing that any moment now they would be in the same room once again made his intestines want to hop out of his body. Could he face him?</p><p>Harry had barely finished the thought when there was a light but determined knock on his door, and Harry had a very brief but a very intense bout of nausea. Without fetching his wand from his robes, Harry made his office door open a few inches accompanied with his <em>Come in</em> that stuck to his throat mid-word. The top button of his jacket snapped itself close, and his hair was brushed in place by an invisible comb. Harry did not usually perform wandless magic, because not only was it quite painstaking, there was mostly no one to impress. Now, however, he was not up for Malfoy’s sneering glance and rude remarks about him being raised by muggles, even if the Dursley’s were horrible caretakers.</p><p>Harry turned around to face the door and his silver-embroidered robes danced around him. A blond man slightly taller than him entered the room and closed the door behind him. He simultaneously looked infallibly like Draco Malfoy and not like him at all. At least, he did not carry any resemblance to what he had looked like ten years ago, Harry was taken aback. Malfoy was wearing neat, simple dark green robes, impeccably tailored as always, his now wavy hair gently combed back instead of the usual gel slicked set. But he was slightly tan, his hair had strands of golden shades in between the silver, and most peculiar of all, he had a different presence about him: calmer, more composed, still formidable.</p><p>Harry gathered himself. “Malfoy,” he announced, and faced the stare of his grey eyes. Harry didn’t fancy asking him where he had been all these years, frankly he just wanted Malfoy out of his office and out of this life as swiftly as possible.</p><p>The git looked like his thoughts paralleled Harry’s. “Potter,” he voiced lifting his chin a little, measuring Harry from head to toe. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy hadn’t spat out his name in the usual manner, maybe the years had made them both grow up. No, not Malfoy. “Head Auror, I see,” Malfoy continued, scanning the room and looking like he was fighting a scowl, “congratulations,” he said through almost gritted teeth, “though, frankly, considering that you always were an insufferable stickler for the rules I expected nothing less.” He then made a face of almost… embarrassment? No, couldn’t be. Harry was almost glad to see that Malfoy was still exactly the same, that is, until– “Sorry, old habits, you know.”</p><p>Harry had <em>never</em> heard Malfoy apologise and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He was speechless for a while, before realizing that it was his turn to speak. “Er– glad to see some things never change,” he uttered, and saw the corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitch as he was fighting to suppress a smile of some sort. The twit was just standing there in the middle of Harry’s office, and what Harry did next required an inhuman amount of willpower. He moved from behind his desk and strode over to Malfoy, extending his hand in a handshake. He noticed that Malfoy also looked a little bit green, and was pleased that he wasn’t the only one ready to implode. “Thank you for coming,” Harry said when Malfoy shook his hand, it was cold.</p><p>He then quickly returned to the safety of his side of the sizeable desk and made a hand gesture offering Malfoy to sit down. The chair without the parchment stack pulled out to indicate its availability. Harry took pleasure in seeing Malfoy’s eyes widen just a little seeing Harry perform magic without his wand. He was happy to gain an upper hand in their lifelong rivalry. In that vein, Harry conjured up the report, an empty scroll for notes, and a quill and some ink. Malfoy sat down, eyeing the room and the parchment stacks that were still sitting on the other chairs and tables.</p><p>“Right, according to this report from last evening, you were present at the muggle pub at the time of the arrest, is that correct?” Harry pretended to arrange important papers on his desk just to have something to do with his hands. He could feel Theseus’ gaze on him from the portrait to his left.</p><p>“That is correct,” replied Malfoy’s dry voice. This questioning was going to rob Harry of his will to live, he was sure.</p><p>Harry asked the same questions he had been repeating for the last four interviews, and was secretly hoping that any new information wouldn’t come up, forcing him to elaborate. Malfoy looked at least as uncomfortable as Harry, though he kept his temper in check commendably. Harry almost wished he had acted out, acted like the Draco Malfoy he knew and hated in school, at least then something would feel normal about the horribly abnormal situation.</p><p>Harry didn’t recognize this Malfoy: he was quieter, more restrained. He wasn’t lazily lounging in the chair, and only restricted his insults towards Harry to the one. His now gold and silver hair was longer but his beard was still closely shaved off, he was wearing the Malfoy family ring in his long finger, along with a few others.</p><p>Malfoy gave a detailed description of the witch the man had spoken with, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether Malfoy was currently making as many observations about him, too. Did <em>he</em> look the same as ten years ago? He wasn’t as skinny anymore, but his black hair was still a mess, he was too lazy to change his glasses, he had had a beard a year ago, but he shaved it off because it made him feel too old.</p><p>“And in the initial questioning you said that your reason for being at the pub was to meet someone? Who were you meeting?” Harry asked, already hating having to ask the question. It was protocol, but Harry really did not care to know what shady businesses Malfoy was conducting this time.</p><p>“I was meeting a real-estate agent, finalising a purchase of a house for my mother, released from Azkaban later today, surely you’re aware,” Malfoy stated, looking into the mid distance, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Of course, how could Harry have forgotten that? It was just on the <em>Prophet </em>yesterday. So that’s why Malfoy was back in town, Harry had just assumed that he was back to his dubious ways. Malfoy seemed to have read Harry’s mind, because he started, “Just so you know, I’m not going to be wreaking havoc on your precious wizarding London, Potter, I am not back to my old manners, although, just how you graciously and extensively testified to the Wizengamot all those years ago, they weren’t <em>my</em> habits to begin with. I am merely helping my mother get settled, and then I am out of your hair, trust me, I don’t want to spend an extra minute in this Salazar forsaken place.” Malfoy huffed and leaned back in his chair.</p><p>“Right, ‘course not,” said Harry after a pause, not knowing how to react. Hopefully the self-writing quill managed to compose an appropriate response on the parchment because Harry sure wasn’t able to. He felt like an absolute git for assuming right away that Malfoy was up to something bad – he had been wrong about that before (although, he had also been right about that before).</p><p>“Brilliant, that’s the last of my questions, do you have something to add? Any questions?” Harry’s quill dove back into the bottle of ink in between the notes. Malfoy shook his head. “Let’s sign this then,” Harry continued and the parchment gently floated in front of Malfoy with the quill following. Malfoy grabbed it mid-air and scribbled his signature on the line. When it was Harry’s turn to sign, he scribbled his hasty signature under Malfoy's, which was of course penned down in perfect cursive letters, Harry expected no less.</p><p>“Lovely, I assume I’m free to go?” Malfoy asked, but did not wait for a response before getting up from his chair. He was already buttoning up his outer robe. Harry just waved his hand approvingly and the door opened slowly once more, but he couldn’t stop himself from standing up as well. Should he shake Malfoy's hand goodbye? The blond man had apparently already made the decision to not repeat the action, and was now striding over to the door.</p><p>Harry felt silly, would he ever see Malfoy again? Not that he wanted to, it was just an odd way to meet someone and then never see them again. He supposed on some level they had already said goodbyes ten years ago, and this was just an abnormality in their otherwise separate lives. “Malfoy?” he called out, and instantly regretted it, there was no turning back now. Malfoy turned at the door and his robes spun around in one quick movement. He didn’t say anything, he was just waiting for Harry to continue. “W-what are you, er, doing these days?” Harry heard himself ask and wanted to toss himself out the window the second he heard the words come out of his mouth.</p><p>He thought that Malfoy would laugh or at least throw an insult his way, but what happened was much worse. He gave Harry a pitying glance, like one gives to a demented person who just asked the same question for the tenth time. “Potter, I really wish you didn’t.”</p><p>Didn’t what? What was Harry doing? Asking how he was? Trying to be his friend (what, mind you, he was not trying to be!)? Harry only uttered a quiet “Right” in a baffled manner. He would have to go ask Evergrey to Obliviate him after this.</p><p>“Right,” Malfoy echoed, “goodbye then, Potter.” And before Harry could answer, Malfoy had already gone in a twirl of his forest green robes. It was like he was never there, and Harry preferred it that way. He turned his gaze upon the parchment notes, in a neat penmanship of the self-writing quill, it said <em>Reason for presence at scene of arrest: Meeting a seller of house, helping mother after being released from Azkaban.</em></p><p>Harry sighed and shared a glance with Theseus, who rarely commented on his doings, but now gave him a knowing look reserved only for when Harry had been stupid.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Minister for Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day Harry returned to work wearing simple dark maroon robes, he had had enough of the scratchiness of the silver embroidery. Besides, today he wouldn’t have to see anyone outside the employees of the Ministry.</p><p>Once Harry stepped out of the green fire in the Ministry’s Atrium, Evergrey approached him with a hurried look on his face. He and Rivers had been interrogating the apprehended man, Gunther Ivanovski, and now Patrick was here to share the results. “Go on then, what did you find out?” Harry urged the man.</p><p>“Ivanovski was quite easy to crack, he admitted to having sold memory potions for a good price to some people at Knockturn Alley a few days ago. However, he’s a small player, only a middleman to one distributor. After some persuasion he revealed that there are several distributors all around London, who are apparently getting the potions from one source.” Evergrey was hectically going through his parchments and handed one over to Harry, “A copy of his statement.”</p><p>“Cheers,” Harry grabbed the piece of parchment, “what about the witch he was talking to? His distributor? Did he give a name?” Harry was eyeing the statement as they stepped into one of the packed elevators.</p><p>“Wouldn’t that be convenient,” Evergrey said dryly, “sadly, he had no idea about her name, and even his description wasn’t too accurate, but I reckon we can work with it.” The elevator bell dinged and they both stepped out, heading towards Harry’s office. “Did you find out anything more in yesterday’s interviews? Figured that must’ve been tedious as hell,” Evergrey continued.</p><p>“Well one good thing is that I got a pretty specific description of the witch Ivanov met at the pub, I’ll get you a copy and we can run it through the list of witches wanted, who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky,” Harry opened the door to his office, strode over to his desk, Accio’d Malfoy’s statement from the piles of parchments and cast a Doubling Charm before handing the other over to Evergrey.</p><p>“Merlin’s beard, <em>Draco Malfoy</em> gave you this statement? I thought Blackburn was yanking my chain the other day when he said Malfoy was one of the wizards there, bloody hell,” the man was shaking his head in disbelief. Harry was still a bit wound up about his encounter with Malfoy the previous day, and didn’t know the appropriate response to offer. He was just hoping Patrick would say something else. “Haven’t seen that git in almost a decade and he shows up now in the middle of a bloody investigation. Can we trust him, do you reckon?”</p><p>Harry just shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “Yesterday he seemed pretty headstrong not wanting anything to do with the Ministry, so I’d say he was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Harry found himself once again making excuses for Malfoy, defending him, and he couldn’t not think that Malfoy would hex his arse into the next decade if he found out. The corner of his mouth wanted to curl into a smile but he suppressed it.</p><p>“Right then, I’ll be back with the results about this profile, until then I’d recommend you organize this junk pile you call an office.” Before Harry could raise his eyebrows at Evergrey, the man was already off. Patrick Evergrey was an Auror in his thirties, not much older than Harry, with a lovely wife and two young kids, Harry thought that if he was ever in his shoes, he’d seek employment from a more risk-free career. He now turned to the unholy mess that was his office.</p><p>Short of two hours later Evergrey returned with two pieces of parchment. Meanwhile, Harry had just sorted the piles and stowed them in his desk or put them away in the bookcase. A surprisingly large amount of it had just been junk, and Harry was relieved to see his office again from under all the rubbish.</p><p>“Well?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>The man handed the other parchment to Harry. “At first, we didn’t manage to find her from the regular list of wanted people, so we had to try a bunch of different variations of the characteristics described, still nothing. But then Maryse checked the arrest warrants for Europe as a whole, and up popped one madam Anastasie Dubois, a French con-woman who fled the country after being caught running an illegal Felix Felicis ring, fake stuff of course.”</p><p>“French, figures,” Harry scoffed, “sounds like someone can’t get enough of illegal potions. However, the memory potion has been tested to be effective though, but the Felix Felicis was fake you say?” Harry wondered why a woman not able to brew Felix could suddenly be able to brew a memory potion so strong it wiped off years from the memory of a poor chap foolish enough to enjoy a gulp.</p><p>“Dunno, but if we go grab her I’m sure we can squeeze an explanation out of her. There’s just one thing…” Evergrey was now nervously fiddling with the other piece of parchment he was holding, “and you’re not going to like it.”</p><p>“For Merlin’s sakes, what is it Evergrey?” Harry had a feeling that whatever it was, it had something to do with the wicked piece of parchment in the man’s hand. For a split-second, Harry considered a change of career, maybe a florist somewhere warm.</p><p>“It’s a permission slip, quite literally, to make an arrest,” Evergrey went a funny colour, but seemed a bit annoyed at the situation himself, “you know re-elections are coming up, the Minister isn’t taking any risks for something to go sideways, all larger missions must be approved by him personally.” Harry had to pinch his nose for a second before taking a deep breath and composing himself.</p><p>“Lovely, just brilliant,” Harry felt like stomping his foot, he was the Head bloody Auror, and <em>he</em> wasn’t the one to decide on missions? Merlin give him strength. “Right, better get going then, get this shit signed,” Harry grabbed the piece of parchment Evergrey was holding out, and started marching towards the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt.</p><p>***</p><p>“Office of the Minister, please,” Harry huffed through semi-gritted teeth, and the wizard working the elevator pressed the button for <em>Level 1: Minister for Magic and Support Staff</em>. Evergrey barely managed to slip through the closing doors into the elevator. They stood in silence, the elevator was empty aside from the interdepartmental memos floating above them.</p><p>When the elevator doors opened with a ding, Harry started for the large doors at the end of the corridor, Evergrey walking close behind him. Before Harry could perform a forceful knock on the doors, they opened in a welcoming manner and he marched right in. “I hate when you do that,” he announced and stopped in front of Kingsley’s desk without a greeting.</p><p>“Harry, what a pleasant surprise, what can I do you for?” Kingsley lifted his gaze from his papers to look at Harry huffing in front of him. His manner reminded Harry of Dumbledore, too calm. Harry more or less slammed the permission slip on the desk to face the Minister. “I need your signature… please.”</p><p>Kingsley leisurely lifted the paper and conjured his reading glasses from the side table to read the task description. Harry tapped his foot impatiently and scanned the office: it was larger than his, but it also featured a personal fireplace connected to the Floo Network, some maroon armchairs, a chessboard, a bookcase, and no portraits of the Minister’s predecessors. Harry reckoned he also wouldn’t want a portrait Cornelius Fudge or Rufus Scrimgeour looking over him every day, or worst case, Pius Thicknesse, though he figured that any portrait made of the former Death Eater was surely already destroyed. A cold shiver still ran down his spine.</p><p>“Making progress in the memory potion case I see, very good,” Kingsley said, and signed the paper. He handed it back to Harry and removed his glasses with his other hand.</p><p>“Thank you, sir, we will get right on this,” Harry replied, now calmed down a bit, though when he turned to leave he had to add, “Sir, I must say I’m not a fan of this new practice,” he lifted the paper in his hand to clarify.</p><p>Kingsley only leaned back in his chair and let out a long huff of breath. “Yes Harry, I thought you wouldn’t be.”</p><p>When Harry realized that that was the end of the conversation, he nodded and left, Evergrey now walking beside him. “Right, let’s go arrest this witch.”</p><p>***</p><p>Harry apparated into Knockturn Alley along with Evergrey, Crooker, and Twigs. It was the early afternoon, but the place was deserted. After Voldemort was defeated and his supporters dispersed, many of the shops closed or were closed by the Ministry, and now Knockturn Alley was only a shadow of its infamous past. Still, some of the apartments in the run-down buildings were occupied, and Crooker had located Dubois to be in one of those apartments using a tracking spell.</p><p>The weather was gloomy, the clouds of late February were hanging low and down fell a light but persistent drizzle. The three Aurors in their dark rain cloaks were making their way in the shadows down the paved street. When they passed Borgin and Burkes, Harry couldn’t help looking its way – the door had been nailed shut, some of the windows were broken, and the paint was slowly peeling off. Harry tried to shrug off every piece of memory he had of that ghastly place, beginning from when he had accidentally Floo’d there when he was twelve. It felt like a lifetime ago, fifteen years for Merlin’s sakes. Harry wished he could have said that times were simpler then, and in a way, they were, but trying to be offed by Voldemort constantly really put a damper on his school years.</p><p>Now the three of them turned to a side alley and stopped in front of a crooked door. Harry looked at Crooker for confirmation, and she nodded. Harry cast Alohomora and slowly opened the squeaking door. It led to a short corridor with a steep staircase upwards and nothing else.</p><p>“Homenum Revelio,” Twigs whispered and raised his wand a few inches, “there’s someone on the first floor but that’s it.” Harry and Crooker nodded and the three of them carefully made their way up, trying to make as little sound as possible. The stairs creaked under their boots in the otherwise silent establishment, and Harry had a bad feeling that whoever was in the first floor wasn’t going to like them being there.</p><p>Turns out he was right, and as soon as they had reached the floor, one of the doors to the apartments swung open and a witch with bright red hair emerged. Before any of them could react, she started throwing hexes at them. She matched the description Malfoy had given the day before: tall, long red hair, prominent nose, thin lips. Her curse hit Crooker, who fell down the stairs in a ball of robes before Harry had cast a reflexive Protego, and Twigs hit her back with Stupefy. The witch blocked the spell and cast a load of other curses which Harry and Twigs blocked with difficulty. “What a lovely reception, this must be out culprit,” Harry muttered when a curse flew by his ear and blew up the staircase to their left with a loud bang.</p><p>Crooker ran back up the stairs and with her help Harry managed to cast Expelliarmus. With his old seeker’s coordination, he succeeded in grabbing the witch’s wand mid-air as Twigs cast Incarcerous on her. She fell down on the floor from the force of the spell and started screaming. Crooker used Silencio and went over to grab her, she started citing, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a magical court of law. You have the right to a legal counsel. If you cannot afford a counsel, one will be provided for you.”</p><p>Twigs let out a long sigh, “Merlin, why can’t they ever come willingly?” He shook his head; his beard was full of dust and wooden shards.</p><p>“You and Maryse take her to be interrogated, I’ll search the place, if this is where she was staying there might be something to find,” Harry said and the two of them nodded, “see you at the office.”</p><p>Cooker and Twigs Disapparated with a crack and Harry was alone. He turned to the room Dubois had emerged from merely moments ago. Harry entered the room, it was small and rugged. The grey walls were stained and daylight lit the room only faintly through the dirty window. There was a damp smell wafting everywhere in the building, Harry wrinkled his nose. There was a mattress on the floor with no sheets, no curtains on the window either, a dirty kitchen counter with a faucet acted as a kitchen, and a door led to a tiny toilet.</p><p>There were no signs of potion brewing in the room: no cauldrons, no ingredients, or recipes. Of course, she could have simply Vanished all of them when she heard them coming. The only thing left behind was a piece of parchment on the mattress. Harry picked it up and read the messy scribble:</p><p>
  <em>Meet D.R. and N.M. for refill</em>
</p><p>
  <em>2902 0000</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Behind B&amp;B</em>
</p><p>Harry folded the note in his pocket and left the apartment, closing the door behind him. He cast a lazy Reparo on the hallway before returning to the fresh air of the alley and Disapparating to the Ministry.</p><p>When he arrived in his office, Evergrey was already there. “Any news on Dubois?” Harry asked tiredly even though he already knew the answer, barely 15 minutes had passed. Patrick seemed to guess his thoughts, “The day is still young, Blackburn and Twigs are getting on it now.”</p><p>“Well tell them they don’t have to do any overtime over this, a least,” Harry fished the note he had found out of his pocket and handed it to Evergrey, who grabbed it and examined it closely. “D.R. and N.M., who are they I wonder… and what are these bizarre number combinations? Vaults in Gringotts perhaps?”</p><p>Harry took off his outer robe and hung it on the stand, he flopped down on one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He had thought about the numbers, and had a guess, though it might have been a reach. “Well, I reckon, today is February 29<sup>th</sup>, so maybe the first number is today’s date, and the four zeroes might mean midnight…” he was rubbing his chin and staring at the empty fireplace. He had been wrong about these things before, but he had some experience solving cryptic initials and codes. <em>I open at the close.</em> He shook his head to repel the memory of walking into the Forbidden Forest for the last time.</p><p>“And B&amp;B?” Evergrey inquired.</p><p>“Borgin and Burkes,” Harry replied dryly.</p><p>“Right, brilliant, let’s crash the meeting to find out who Dubois’ source is, this must be them” Evergrey handed the note back to Harry, who pocketed it and gave Patrick a desperate look back, “right, I’ll go fetch the permission parchment, just a second.”</p><p>“Cheers, mate,” Harry said and when he heard the door close behind him, he Incendio’d the fireplace. He slouched back on the chair and extended his legs. Harry had really had enough of mysterious initials and hunting down things… for the day, at least. Maybe forever.</p><p>***</p><p>The neighbourhood was quiet after the last rays of evening sun had set behind the faraway forest. The semidetached houses along the street were white against the black backdrop of their now dark gardens, though the streetlights were illuminating the leafless bushes surrounding the buildings. The persistent drizzle of the day had finally stopped, but the street was still wet, and water droplets were lazily hanging on every tree branch and decorative fence. There were no signs of spring anywhere, despite the fact that the year was sliding into March.</p><p>Harry Apparated onto the street with a crack, and headed towards the house with the most vine growing on its side. It had two stories, and warm light was flooding out of every window. Harry passed the white picket fence, the rose bushes growing against it and the cherry blossom tree extending itself to shade the walkway on the other side of the fence. He was holding a bottle of red in one hand and a bouquet of tulips in the other. Harry had to exert himself to make the doorbell ring by itself.</p><p>Merely few seconds later the door swung open and a redheaded man gave Harry a huge smile. “Harry!” Ron exclaimed and, before Harry could react, pulled him into an embrace, “so good to see you man, it’s been a while! Are these for us? You shouldn’t have!” Ron grabbed the bottle and the flowers out of Harry’s hands and motioned him to come in. “Hi Harry!” He heard Hermione shout from the kitchen and responded with equal volume.</p><p>Harry made his way over the doorstep and helped himself in putting away his outer robes in one of the hangers in the hallway wardrobe. He managed to take a quick look in the mirror and smooth out his hair before he heard a high pitched “Uncle Hawwy!” approaching him, accompanied by the sound of little steps tapping against the wooden floor. A redheaded girl ran straight towards him, and Harry lowered himself to greet her as he grabbed little Rose into his arms. “Rosie! What on earth have you been up to?” He smiled at her as he carried her into the open kitchen/dining room area where Hermione and Ron were.</p><p>Ron was uncorking the wine already, and Hermione was putting the tulips into a vase. “Thanks for the flowers Harry, they’re beautiful,” Hermione went over to give Harry a warm one-armed hug and gave Rose a little kiss on the head.</p><p>Ron had grown a subtle beard and his hair wasn’t as wild as it once had been. He was wearing black jeans and an unbuttoned blue dress shirt over a white tee, how muggle, Harry thought with a smile. Hermione was still looking exactly the same, except that she had gained control over her frizzy hair and it was now more of a restrained curl. She too was wearing jeans and a light sweater. In the kitchen sink the pots and pans were cleaning themselves, and it reminded Harry of the Burrow the first time he had been there. There was a delicious smell wafting around the house.</p><p>“I flew with daddy!” Rosie proclaimed next to his ear and pointed a determined finger at Ron, who lifted his arms up as a sign of surrender.</p><p>“Only a little bit, we got her a toy broomstick, lifts two feet off the ground, she’s only three you know,” Hermione cued in from the other side of the kitchen island.</p><p>“A-ha! And how did you like it?” Harry interviewed the girl who was still sitting in his arms, and who was now nodding her head vigorously. “I love flying too, I’ll take you someday when you’re older, how does that sound?” Harry beamed at little Rosie, she was the cutest thing he had ever seen: she had the frizzy hair and the mouth of Hermione, and the eyes and freckles of Ron.</p><p>She was now nodding some more and Harry gently lowered her back on the ground, but she immediately hugged his leg and declared “I’m happy you’re here uncle Hawwy!”</p><p>It made Harry’s heart tighten in his chest a little, he wanted kids too, he wanted what Ron and Hermione had. “I’m happy to be here, Rosie,” he said softly and patted her frizzy head.</p><p>“Settle down Rosie, it’s your bedtime soon,” Hermione reminded her, “if you go to bed now I’ll come and read you a story.” The little girl was already running upstairs, curls bouncing.</p><p>“Sorry I had to come in these clothes, I have a work thing after,” Harry said apologetically, referring to the Auror robes he was wearing, but Hermione waved it away, “We’re just glad you made it.”</p><p>“Wait, does that mean that I’m the only one having wine?” Ron gave the bottle an evaluating look, it was a Friday after all, but then seemed to catch himself as if he had slipped out something important and gave a guilty glace at Hermione. She gave Ron a disappointed look, but smiled and turned to Harry, “Might as well tell you right away, and keep in mind that it is very new, but…” she gave Ron a grin across the table, “Rosie is getting a sibling later this year.”</p><p>The feeling in Harry’s chest might have been pathetic self-pity, but he chose to interpret it as excitement and went over to give Hermione and Ron both another hug. “Congratulations!” Harry exclaimed, “I’m really happy for you both, Rosie is so great, and I can’t wait to meet whoever’s next.”</p><p>Hermione and Ron were both smiling wide. “Just remember, we haven’t even told our parents yet, so we need to keep it hush hush for now,” Hermione cautioned, but couldn’t hold back a smile, “<em>and</em> we’d be honoured if you’d be the godfather for this one as well.”</p><p>Harry agreed immediately, “Absolutely, I’d love to,” he nodded eagerly. How he wanted children of his own too, but for now, he loved being godfather to however many children Ron and Hermione would have.</p><p>The oven timer beeped and Hermione swung around to fetch the casserole, chicken and spinach with lots of cheese, Harry’s favourite, it smelled heavenly. “Right then, I’ll go put Rosie to bed, you lads can set the table.” Ron and Harry nodded and started getting things out of the cupboards.</p><p>Ron took his wand out of his pocket and skilfully made three plates, along with glasses and cutlery, fly over to the dining table. “I’ve had lots of practice,” he demonstrated, and Harry gave the performance an approving nod but, for the safety of the dinner, decided to carry the casserole with oven mitts to the table himself, muggle style. The fire was crackling in the fireplace and the tealights in the middle of the table cast elaborate shadows on the place setting. Harry loved Ron and Hermione’s place, it was cosy and warm like the Burrow, but without the chaos, thanks to Hermione’s resentment towards clutter and untidiness.</p><p>“What’s the work thing you have later? Can you talk about it or is it <em>classified?</em>” Ron stressed the last word and was gesturing towards Harry’s robes. Ron always tried to egg Harry on to tell him what was going on in the ‘exciting part of the Ministry’. Harry guessed that even though Ron loved working at WWW alongside George, he missed the action of being an Auror. The thing was, most of the cases he was working on were classified and he couldn’t share as many details with Ron as he would have perhaps liked.</p><p>As for the ‘exciting part of the Ministry’, Ron was inferring to the Auror Office, of which Hermione never brought any news. After defeating Voldemort, Hermione had gone on to take her N.E.W.T.s and subsequently applied to study Magical Law. A few months before graduating she and Ron had found out that they were expecting Rose, and Hermione decided to halt job hunting right after graduation. Instead, she stayed home for half a year after little Rosie was born, after which Ron had insisted that he could cut down on his shifts at the shop in order for Hermione to be able to look for work.</p><p>She had landed a position at the Department of International Magical Cooperation<em>, </em>more specifically at the International Magical Office of Law, and after starting to work there two and a half years ago, she had already been promoted twice, without so much as a whisper from Harry’s end.</p><p>“Well, apparently someone has been illegally brewing and selling some treacherous memory potion. We have two people in custody,” Harry tried to keep the details to a minimum but still entertain Ron. He was pouring water into the three glasses sitting on the table from the self-filling carafe, and Ron was getting a spoon for the casserole. “Bloody hell…” Ron uttered, “and what about tonight?” he had a glimmer in his eye as he sat down at the table.</p><p>“Tonight, we’re crashing a meeting between a supplier and the source, if we’re lucky we catch this person before they can brew any more of the stuff,” Harry also sat down at the table, he was just a tad tired of talking about work. When Hermione came back from upstairs he thought he was saved and could start hearing about whatever had been going on with them, until she made the conversation take a turn from bad to worse.</p><p>“Harry, is it true that Draco Malfoy came by the Ministry yesterday?” She asked, bringing napkins for the three of them.</p><p>Ron’s eyes widened and he gave Harry a look that signalled that this conversation would not be a short-lived one. Needless to say, Harry lost his appetite then and there, and gave the casserole a longing glance. Sodding Malfoy had to always ruin everything. “Yes, it’s true,” he said defeated, while Hermione also took a seat, “he was one of the witnesses of the first arrest, and I had to interview all wizarding folk present.” Harry was not going to mention that Malfoy had been helpful, just meeting him after all these years had been traumatizing to say the least, and now he had to relive it in conversation. Ron was already slabbing food on his plate, and Hermione looked at the event in distaste.</p><p>“Haven’t heard of that git in ages,” Ron was wolfing down the food on his plate, Harry placed a small forkful in his mouth, it was delicious as always. “What’s he doing in London?” Hermione gave Ron a gentle shove in the ribs, “You know it’s classified.”</p><p>“Hermione’s right, I can’t tell you,” Harry shrugged and was gaining his appetite back with every bite, “but apparently it’s not anything shady,” he had to add. Truthfully, he hadn’t the faintest clue of what could have possessed Malfoy to make an appearance after all these years.</p><p>“And you believed that? Shit Harry, it’s Malfoy, he’s always up to something!” Ron called out, his mouth full and his fork pointing at Harry. Hermione looked like she wished she could have had wine, instead she took a long sip from her water, “It’s been ten years, people can change,” she said simply, and Ron gave the claim his most sarcastic snort.</p><p>“How did he seem?” Hermione inquired carefully, “It must have been awful for him to see both his parents go to Azkaban, and his childhood home closed forever.” Ron made a muffled sound that sounded something like <em>But they deserved it!</em> though it was impossible to be sure.</p><p>Harry supposed it must have been quite horrid to live through, but quite honestly, he had tried to think about Malfoy as little as possible these past years. And he had been successful at it, until now. He didn’t want to pity Malfoy, and he sure as shit knew that Malfoy wouldn’t want his pity, in fact, he would most likely curse Harry into oblivion if he ever so much as found out about this discussion.</p><p>“He, er… he seemed a bit different, actually,” Harry muttered, in search for the right words to use.</p><p>“Defeated?” Ron suggested hopefully, which earned another shove from Hermione.</p><p>“No, more… calibrated. Different looking, too,” Harry wanted to bang his head against the wall, why did he say that? What on Merlin’s green globe had made him voice that out loud?</p><p>“Different looking?” Hermione repeated, “How?”</p><p>“Er… I don’t know–“ what the fuck was he supposed to say? “Less pale, I guess, maybe he moved somewhere warm, I dunno…” Harry had to snap his mouth shut right this second. Something must have possessed him, he was sure. He received weird looks from both Ron and Hermione, and decided to quickly change the subject, that’s what casual people do, right?</p><p>“Anyway… now you two have to tell me what has been going on with you since Christmas!”</p><p>Hermione took a long pause before talking about how things were going at her part of the Ministry, currently she was working with a magical defence attorney called Syrena Ackerman, who was rumoured to be good enough to have gotten some innocent lives off of death row in Azkaban. She was keeping busy, but enjoyed working with a very capable woman with the same values as her. Harry decided not to mention that he had just had to get two permission slips signed in one day to do a job at a department that he was the head of.</p><p>Ron reported that WWW were almost sold out of love potions and whatnot after Valentine’s Day, and that they would need to stock up on various pranking products for the first of April. In more personal news, Ron said that George was seeing someone and that he seemed happy, and was more like himself than in a long time. Arthur was slowly but surely retiring from the Ministry, and he was planning on getting one of those “muggle apparatuses that knew everything these days,” Harry thought of all the things Arthur could find on a computer, all of the information on muggles and their artefacts that he could ever want was there, poor Molly.</p><p>They only mentioned briefly that Ginny had been poached from the Chudley Cannons by the Montrose Magpies to play seeker. Harry remembered that she had talked about it some years ago during Christmas, it was a huge opportunity for her and he was glad she got it. Now she was living in Edinburgh with her boyfriend, who was the keeper in Magpies, Timothy something. Ron and Hermione always tiptoed around the fact that Harry and Ginny had broken up, even though he always assured them that they were fine, he was fine. He was completely fine alone. Completely fine.</p><p>At the end of the night, Ron was a little wine drunk, and they had thoroughly caught up with each other. They had laughed and they had eaten, and Harry reminded himself once again that he was stupid for thinking that he was by himself, because he clearly was not. He had the greatest friends in the world, whose little girl came downstairs an hour after supposedly going to bed, saying that she couldn’t sleep. Little Rosie asked if <em>uncle Hawwy</em>could read her a story, to which Harry consented without question. He followed her upstairs when Ron and Hermione were putting away the dishes, and sat beside her bed, and read her <em>The Tales of Beedle the Bard</em>, and when she fell asleep again, Harry gave her the tiniest kiss on her sleeping head, and sneaked out of her room as quietly as possible.</p><p>After the night was over, Harry gave Ron and Hermione one last embraces before stepping into the chilling night air. And when their door closed after him, locking all of the warmth and the smiles inside, Harry couldn’t help but feel alone in the world again.</p><p>***</p><p>Midnight. McGallon was standing in the shadow of the entrance to Borgin and Burkes at Knockturn Alley. She was wearing the robes they had extracted off of Dubois in exchange for jail robes, and the large hood was covering her face. Harry was lurking in the shades of the side alley with Evergrey, whereas Blackburn and Rivers were in a passageway on the other side of the street. Buckthorn and Crooker were on the roof of the opposing building, and Twigs was laying low on the second floor of the abandoned Borgin and Burkes.</p><p>When they had all Apparated there fifteen minutes ago, Harry had felt the need to apologise to them for having to come into work at such a time on a weekend. “Are you kidding? We all want these maggots caught, don’t worry about it boss,” Blackburn had said and everyone was nodding in agreement, Patrick had squeezed his shoulder in support. Harry had smiled at all of them before saying “Right, positions then.”</p><p>The only light on the street now came from those streetlights that were somehow intact. The wet pavement was glistening in the glowing flames, but the moon was covered by a thick layer of clouds. The wind was starting to pick up and Harry could feel a shiver in his bones. If it had been deserted during the day, Knockturn Alley was certainly empty during the night. The wind was wailing in the broken windows of the shops, otherwise it was completely quiet.</p><p>Harry almost jumped out of his robes when he heard the cracks of Apparition. He could feel his pulse speeding up, and warmth returning to his limbs. Two figures wearing black robes Apparated on the street one after another, one tall and one short. McGallon was holding her cool as they approached her. None of the three said anything, but the other person arriving lowered their hood, it was a short man with silvery hair, but Harry couldn’t see more in the darkness. Seconds passed that felt like minutes to Harry, but then, just as the man moved his arm to take something from the inside pocket of his robes, Katherin dropped her hood, yelling <em>Expelliarmus!</em></p><p>The man’s wand flew through the cold air and hit the pavement a few feet away, as Harry and his backup of Aurors emerged from the shadows all simultaneously. Just as Harry cast the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, the man had managed to slip away with a bang, leaving behind a splinched pinky finger with a ring on it. Now the eight Aurors surrounded the other hooded person, who now lifted their hands up in surrender. “You’re surrounded,” Harry voiced blatantly, “reveal yourself, and don’t even consider doing anything rash.”</p><p>The hooded person moved their gloved hands on their hood and lowered it slowly. The witch’s black and silver hair caught the dim light of the alley, and her face was white with terror. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked starved, she was merely a shadow of the woman Harry knew from all those years ago. Needless to say, Narcissa Malfoy had seen better days.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Malfoys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Ministry was quiet on a Saturday morning. It was early, too – too early to be up by far. Harry was making his way across the Atrium, saying <em>good morning</em> to the night shift at the security stand, who immediately perked up from seeing Harry come his way. It was approaching 6 am, and there were only a handful of witches and wizards either leaving late or arriving early. Harry realized that he might as well have travelled to his own fireplace, but then remembered that it was probably still closed at this time, and was glad he was stuck to his manners.</p><p>The previous night Harry had told everyone to not come into work unless they had a scheduled shift. “Especially you, Patrick, go spend time with your family,” Harry had stressed, suddenly sentimental after seeing Ron and Hermione. Rivers had a night-shift spent interrogating Narcissa Malfoy and Harry would come in early to deal with the paperwork, but no one else should be bothered by the situation.</p><p>Rivers and Blackburn had taken Narcissa to the Ministry, and Harry had Apparated home to get at least some sleep before the havoc that was about to unfold itself. However, Harry was tossing and turning in bed until 2 am, and even when he eventually managed to fall asleep, nightmares haunted his slumber. Harry had woken up to a Floo message flying from his bedroom fireplace straight onto his nose, liberating him from yet another nightmare of Voldemort yelling <em>Kill the spare!</em> The note was from Rivers.</p><p>
  <em>Some information extracted from NM, not urgent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>However, Draco Malfoy on his way. Help might be needed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>CR</em>
</p><p>Harry had sighed very deeply and crumpled the message in his fist. This meant that not only did he have to go into work on a Saturday, he also had to go in early, <em>and</em> convince Draco Malfoy not to burn the place down in a fit of Fiendfyre. Harry had quite honestly had enough of the Malfoy family, especially of Draco tormenting him at every turn. Even a full decade later that git still found a way to lurk his way into Harry’s life and make it worse.</p><p>Harry had to calm himself. <em>It’s just work</em>, he thought. <em>It could be anyone coming to yell at me.</em> These things happened all the time. Well, not <em>all</em> the time. Some of the time. Sometimes. Occasionally. Once or twice. Once.</p><p>Now Harry got up and quickly wrote back to Cordelia.</p><p>
  <em>On my way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>H</em>
</p><p>Next, he cast a thorough cleaning charm on himself to save time, brushed his hair, and opted for the sharpest all black robes he had. If he was going to get attacked at least he could look sharp while engaging in an epic duel with Malfoy.</p><p>Breakfast would have to wait, not that he would have had much of an appetite at the moment. Later he might be dead by Malfoy’s hand and then that problem would be solved too. Harry gave himself one last look in the mirror, made his way to the living room downstairs, and stepped into the fireplace.</p><p>Now he was walking towards his office, his steps muffled on the dark carpet. To his relief, he only found Rivers there in front of his door waiting for him. No sign of Malfoy, <em>yet</em>. Harry gestured her to follow him in. “Sir, so sorry to have bothered you so early. I thought you might want an update of the situation,” Cordelia started hastily.</p><p>“No need to apologise, and no need to call me sir, you did the right thing contacting me. Now, what did Mrs Malfoy say?” Harry took off his outer robe and draped it over one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He accepted the piece of parchment Rivers was handing him and then plopped down on the green armchair in front of the unlit fireplace.</p><p>“Well si–, Harry, it appears she doesn’t know anything about the memory potions. She said that she had received a mysterious note by owl saying to meet her there, someone claiming they knew how to get Lucius out of Azkaban.” Cordelia was eyeing her copy of the interrogation notes.</p><p>“Lucius,” Harry muttered, “he’s convicted for life, how could anyone get him out? Especially after all of those fortifications made recently.”</p><p>“You’re right, it doesn’t make sense,” Rivers said, and then continued in a low voice, “but can you blame her for wanting to get her family back together?” Regrettably, Harry agreed with her. If one had a family, they couldn’t be blamed for wanting to get it together indeed.</p><p>“I guess not,” Harry lifted his right ankle over his left knee, “so she says she was framed… What about our other culprit in custody? Did you interview Dubois?”</p><p>“I did, she says Narcissa’s the source, but that was to be expected if she truly is being framed by her.” Rivers was right, now they had to determine whether Narcissa was telling the truth, or whether she was somehow connected to the case. Although Harry wondered how Narcissa would have been able to orchestrate such a thing all the way from prison.</p><p>“And what about the man who Disapparated? Any news on his wand or the finger he splinched?”</p><p>“The wand left behind is first in line to be examined by evidence when they come in in a couple of hours, the finger too. I’m quite certain that we can track whoever that man was.”</p><p>“Good, keep me updated on that. Did Narcissa give a name for the man? Did she know him?” Harry got up from the chair and placed the copy of the interview on his desk.</p><p>“She said the name in the note was Gregory Smith, we ran it through some searches but didn’t find any matches, seems like an alias.”</p><p>“Seems that way, yes,” Harry was now pacing around his office, “like I said, keep me updated on the progress with the evidence. Dubois we can prosecute for attacking an Auror, destruction of property, and resisting arrest, for starters. However, all the evidence against Narcissa Malfoy is purely circumstantial for now, so I don’t see a reason to keep her at the Ministry any longer at this point.” Harry wanted to believe that Narcissa was innocent, and it was true that they didn’t have any direct evidence against her. She didn’t seem like a flight risk either, what with her new house and her reunion with dearest Draco.</p><p>Rivers nodded, “I’ll get the release form ready, it should take up to an hour before she’s ready to be cleared.”</p><p>“Brilliant, thank you Rivers,” Harry turned to face the window before recalling the real reason he came to work this early – to get beaten up, “in your note you said Draco Malfoy was on his way?”</p><p>“Yes sir, she used her one Floo call to get a message to her son, so I just assumed he’d be here any moment now.” And at that moment, there was a loud knock at the door.</p><p>Harry and Cordelia exchanged glances. “Right on time. I’d Disapparate if I were you, not sure it’s safe to use the door right now,” there was a smile flickering in the corner of Harry’s mouth. Rivers nodded and disappeared with a smooth crack. The knocking on the door grew louder and more persistent. <em>Here we go</em>.</p><p>Harry took a very deep breath, before striding over to the door and opening it to see a very red Draco Malfoy standing on the other side. Harry figured that he now had two options, either to get annihilated by Malfoy or to at least try to stand his ground. Even with how exhausted he was with the three grand hours of nightmare-ridden sleep he’d gotten, he would not be defeated by one Draco sodding Malfoy.</p><p>Now he gave the git the politest smile he could muster. “Malfoy, fancy seeing you here, what brings you to the Ministry?” Harry had to step aside as Malfoy stormed into his office, white hair only lazily combed back, black robes dramatically flailing behind him as he turned to face Harry, who was now closing the door behind him. Harry was preparing to draw out his wand at any moment.</p><p>“You know very fucking well why I’m here, <em>Potter</em>,” there it was, the oh-so-familiar spitting out his name. Malfoy was visibly shaking from rage, his grey eyes gleaming with the usual longing to strangle Harry at the spot.</p><p>Harry was trying to wrack his brain figuring out what Dumbledore would have said in a situation like this, he always managed to be so calm, infuriatingly so. “Ah, of course. How very gracious of you, to look after you mother so… keenly,” Harry knew there was a flash of challenge in his eyes. <em>Try me, see how it’ll go down</em>. He almost wanted to draw out his wand, put his Auror training to practice. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?”</p><p>Malfoy turned to Harry, his hands balled into fists. “You can get my mother released! She’s innocent and you know it! You’re just doing this in order to… to…” Draco was turning dark red, and his voice was getting choked up from whatever bundle of rage he was feeling. Harry didn’t care to know.</p><p>“To get to you?” Harry tried to conjure up the most sarcastic tone in his voice he knew how, he couldn’t believe what an absolutely narcissistic twat Malfoy was being. “Have you not realized yet that not everything is about you, <em>Draco?</em>” Despite the little bit of amusement he got out of this exchange with Malfoy, the argument was getting to Harry a little, he couldn’t lie.</p><p>“No, it bloody well is not. It is all about <em>you</em>, <em>Saviour.</em> It’s all about you prancing around pretending to be horny for the law, but then arresting innocent people LIKE MY MOTHER,” Draco was now yelling, and looked at Harry like he was a pile of steaming hot dragon shit, “face it, you’re just a phony who got in his head that he is above everyone else, because he managed to not get killed a couple times.”</p><p>Harry absolutely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Is this really what Malfoy thought of him? What was Harry supposed to do? Get killed by Voldemort? He was pretty sure he didn’t think himself better than anyone else, in fact, he didn’t like himself very much. He was a shit friend at school, he was a shit boyfriend, he was shit at being close to anyone. Being an Auror was the first and only thing where he didn’t feel like an absolute failure all of the time. Now to hear that someone had gotten his entire character so catastrophically wrong… he didn’t know where to begin, so he didn’t. Malfoy was not worth his time.</p><p>Harry now straightened his posture, put his arms behind his back, and lifted his chin to face Malfoy’s furious stare. He let the room be quiet for a minute while he gave Malfoy an ice-cold look, before invoking his most chilling voice. “Your mother was arrested meeting with people connected to an illegal memory potion ring. Now tell me Malfoy, what would you have done, in my position?” Harry squinted his eyes at the blond git.</p><p>Malfoy was silent for a few moments, shuffling his feet, putting his hands in his pockets and then taking them out. Finally, he ran his hand through his silvery hair and cleared his throat. “It was a misunderstanding, she didn’t know.” His voice was now low and he was staring at the carpet. Harry was almost surprised to see him act so… defeated. The Malfoy he knew would not have given up the fight that easily.</p><p>Harry nodded and measured Malfoy with his gaze. “Yes, it appears so. In any case, we don’t have enough evidence to keep her here, so she is being released within the hour. You’re welcome to wait for her in the Atrium.”</p><p>Malfoy looked taken aback. Perhaps he had geared up to fight Harry for much longer than this. Now he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” the man cleared his throat again and started to make his way to the door, but to Harry’s surprise, turned around just before leaving the room, “sorry for… bothering you.”</p><p>“Yeah… er, don’t worry about it,” Harry replied uncomfortably. Fuck, it had all gone so well until now. Draco made a small huff of noise that signalled that Harry was being stupid again. “Just… don’t leave. I mean– your mother shouldn’t leave, she should stay in town in case there are developments with the, er, the case.” <em>Bollocks.</em> “You can leave your address downstairs.”</p><p>“Will do,” Malfoy smirked, “and don’t worry Potter, I won’t be going anywhere for a bit, neither is my mother.” And with that, the tall man was gone, the door slowly closing behind him.</p><p>Harry wondered if he would feel like an absolute arse every time Malfoy left his office. Would there be more times? Harry hoped not.</p><p>“Well that went well, don’t you think?” Harry almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Theseus’s comment.</p><p>***</p><p>Around 9 am, when Harry had been trying to get some paperwork done while waiting for the results from evidence, Buckthorn entered his office. Harry was just finishing the arrest report for Narcissa, and now signed it quickly before standing up to talk to the man. Isaac Buckthorn was a little younger than Harry. From what he had heard, Isaac had been Head Boy at Hogwarts, and applied to Auror training as soon as he graduated. To Harry he had always been a good colleague, and later, a good team member.</p><p>“Isaac, what do you have for me?” Harry went around his desk and leaned on it, arms folded in front of him. Buckthorn looked at least Harry’s age with his groomed beard and overgrown brown hair, his eyes twinkled when he smiled. Isaac was a very pleasant looking man all around, perhaps that was why it was easy to like him.</p><p>“Good news Harry, we have a name,” Isaac smiled at him reassuringly and ruffled the papers he was carrying, finding the right one, “the wand belongs to one Dargan Ridgenorth, the splinched finger confirms this.” Buckthorn was peering at the piece of parchment in his hand before nodding to himself and handing the document over to Harry.</p><p>Harry took the paper and skimmed the text quickly. “So, Gregory Smith was an alias, very good work Buckthorn,” Harry nodded contemplatively, “where can we find Mr Ridgenorth?”</p><p>Now Isaac was shuffling his feet a bit. “Well, that’s the thing, we don’t have an address, but we put out an arrest warrant for him, and an announcement in this morning’s <em>Prophet</em> with his description, asking for the public’s help in tracking his moves.”</p><p>“Right, good,” Harry nodded again, unsure what to do next. They didn’t know where Dargan was, so they had pretty little to go on. Harry found it insufferable to merely wait for some witch or wizard to identify their suspect somewhere, they would never catch Dargan if they only knew places he had been, not where he <em>was</em>.</p><p>“Ahem,” Isaac cleared his throat clearly to snap Harry out of whatever inner monologue had been on, “all is not lost, there was a ring on the splinched finger,” Isaac reached into his pocket and pulled out a white lump, a cloth handkerchief, which he now handed to Harry. Harry placed it in his hand and opened it with the other, and inside of the handkerchief there was a ring. It was a bulky golden ring with an emerald green centre, and in the green middle, there was engraved the letter M with a swirly typeface.</p><p>Harry wasn’t sure if his heartrate was increasing rapidly or completely slowing down. He had to swallow but his mouth was suddenly very dry. “M as in… Malfoy?” Harry almost threw up in his mouth a little. Would he never be free of this sodding family? <em>Not doing anything illegal</em> his arse.</p><p>Isaac shrugged gently. “Impossible to say. Based on the inscription inside though it seems that it is indeed an M and not a W. They are inscribed in the same direction.</p><p>Harry turned the ring and peered at the engraving on the inside. On it, in incredibly small letters, with the same handwriting as the large M on the other side, it said <em>Faber est suae quisque fortunae</em>.</p><p>He felt like an absolute tit having to ask what it meant. He had not paid any attention in Latin class in school, and had barely passed, cheating off of Hermione. To be fair, he had had a couple other things on his mind at the time.</p><p>“It means <em>Every man is the artisan of his own fortune</em>,” Buckthorn clarified in a very friendly tone, which Harry interpreted as <em>don’t worry, no one knows Latin these days anyway.</em> He was grateful but also a little embarrassed.</p><p>“Right, in this case brewing and selling illegal memory potions. Has Dubois been interrogated about this? Maybe she knows what the M denotes,” Harry wrapped the ring back into the handkerchief and handed it to Isaac.</p><p>“If she does, she isn’t telling.”</p><p>In that moment Harry had a wonderfully terrible idea. The words Snape had once uttered to him came back to his mind: <em>A Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets…</em> “Isaac, do you think it would be possible to get a special permission from the Minister for the Department of Mysteries to brew a small batch of Veritaserum for our difficult detainee?”</p><p>Buckthorn’s eyes widened a little when he heard Harry’s question. “Bloody hell, Potter. You really must want this person caught.”</p><p>“Isaac, we don’t have any leads as to the whereabouts of Mr Ridgenorth, the only thing we have to go on is that ring, and I must say, it’s not much,” Harry huffed and ran his hand through his hair, frustration was getting the better of him, he liked things done yesterday.</p><p>“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Buckthorn was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, but eventually conjured another one of the damned permission slips in his hand and handed it to Harry, “it does take a month to brew, though.”</p><p>“Well, we don’t know how long this is going to take, so better have a contingency plan, don’t you think?”</p><p>Buckthorn nodded, “Right, I’ll let you get to it then,” Isaac gave one last look at the office before turning around and exiting the room, leaving the door half open.</p><p>Harry sighed heavily and looked at the piece of parchment in his hand. He then returned to the other side of his desk and sat down to fill out the short form. Harry batted away the self-writing quill and opted for a regular one, he dipped it in the black ink and started scribbling on the paper.</p><p>
  <em>Name of requester: Harry Potter</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dept.: M.L.E.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Date: 1 March 2008</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Request: Brewing Veritaserum for means of interrogation</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Reasoning: Lack of sufficient leads, suspect in custody won’t talk</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Decision: </em>
</p><p>Harry folded the piece of parchment carefully and threw it swiftly across the room. It didn’t stop its flight, instead, it flew right out of the open door and towards the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry knew the matter would have to wait until Monday, and there wasn’t anything to do at the office anymore, and it was Saturday after all, so he decided to leave and go home to get some sleep. He was meeting Ron in the evening for a pint at the Jade Toad.</p><p>***</p><p>8 pm. The street was busy with customers trying to make their last purchases before the shops closed for the week. The spring fashion for robes had come and many windows advertised mid-season sales to get rid of their winter cloaks. <em>They’re just robes</em>, Harry couldn’t help thinking, <em>how different can they be?</em> At least muggles had different kinds of clothing. There was a rowdy crowd of drunk blokes stumbling along the road, bumping into each other and singing drinking songs very loudly.</p><p>The streetlights and a bright glow from the shop windows illuminated the crowded street, the sun had long gone. Harry peered above the slow-moving crowd to see the entrance to the Jade Toad, a tad fancier pub located on the corner of a very posh building. The building itself was built from sturdy pale bricks, and many engravings, stone ornaments and statues, embellished it. The windows had numerous panes and they were meticulously clean. The building harboured not only the posh pub, but also one of the more respected upscale fashion shops, Madam Mooney’s.</p><p>Harry had gotten some more sleep after going home, and had tried not to think about the case too much, more specifically, he attempted to shake Malfoy out of his mind. Seeing him twice already after all these years was exhausting in its suddenness and its relentlessness. Harry had not seen the man after the trials, and frankly, he didn’t want to. There was just too much to unpack there, and he would have preferred to leave that situation unexplored.</p><p>Now Harry was wearing simple maroon robes under a black overcloak, they were softer in fabric and more comfortable than his work robes, and he was able to breathe in the jacket, unlike in the official Head Auror robes, no embroidery either.</p><p>Harry was just about to rise the marble steps to the door, when a dark brown owl with ruffled feathers landed on one of the stone toad statues that were standing on both sides of the steps. Clearly it had flown a long way in a short time. Sir Luckless, named after one of the main characters in <em>The Fountain of Fair Fortune</em> from <em>Beetle the Bard</em>, struggled with his landing, and barely managed to keep his balance on the stone statue. He had a note in his beak, and he was staring at Harry. He already knew what it said, Sir Luckless was Ron and Hermione’s owl. Harry opened the note.</p><p>
  <em>Unexpected overtime at work for H.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Have to look after Rosie tonight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So sorry mate, another time?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ron</em>
</p><p>Harry sighed, <em>brilliant.</em> Of course he understood, but it was still shit. Maybe he had been looking forward to tonight a little too much, and that’s why he was disappointed. He patted Sir Luckless gently on the head, and he chirped cheerily back at Harry, before taking flight again, slower this time. Well, since he was already here, Harry decided to check the place out anyway. He climbed up the stairs and opened the wood framed glass door to the place.</p><p>The pub had a slate floor, and the wood used in the tables and the chairs was lightly coloured. The upholstery was jade green and in the tables there were singular flowers in tiny glass bottles. The place was semi crowded, but not loud, and a gentle chatter filled the space. Harry headed on to the bar and ordered a pint.</p><p>After a short while the young bartender in a white blouse and a black apron slid the glass over the counter, it had a thick frothy foam on the top, and it was ridiculously overpriced. Harry picked it up and spotted an empty booth in the corner of the room that was still deserted. He started to make his way over.</p><p>Once Harry was sitting at the booth, he shed his outer cloak and was scoping the crowd for a while, before taking a sip of his ale. It was quite bitter but had a fresh aftertaste. He then reached into his inner pocket for a small notebook with some case notes scribbled on it. Now there was a large group of people entering the pub, taking up the last of the scarce spaces that were still left. Harry had clearly arrived in the right time.</p><p>Leafing through the pages of the journal he wished that the M in the ring from evidence didn’t mean Malfoy, Harry couldn’t bare working with them for any longer than he already had to. He also wished that Kingsley would approve of his Veritaserum plan, though he considered it unlikely. If they could start brewing the truth serum and rush this thing along, there was a good chance that he never had to see–</p><p>Draco Malfoy was standing at the bar. His silvery hair caught the dim lights and accentuated the gold streaks. Harry’s throat had turned very dry again, and he tried to take a long sip from his pint to ease his plight. Maybe if he pretended he never saw Malfoy the situation would go away. So, Harry did his best to look like he was very deep in thought with the notes in his journal, and wondered how the fuck he was in a situation like this at twenty-seven.</p><p>“Potter, might I join you?” A biting voice came from beside him, and Harry had to drop his act, lowering the notebook on the table and closing it. Malfoy’s face was quite sour, he was obviously not happy about the situation either.</p><p>Harry lifted his eyebrows and gestured with his hand at the empty space beside him at the booth. Malfoy was scowling a tad when he placed his drink on the table and sat down diagonally to Harry. They were quiet for a while, Harry didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know how he was in this situation or why. He took another sip from his pint and the mellow chatter was now deafening to his ears.</p><p>“I reckon I must apologize again for this morning,” Malfoy started and it did not help Harry’s loss for words, “but it was my mother, you know how I get.” This was the second time Harry heard Malfoy apologise for anything, and he felt surprisingly uncomfortable. This was not the person he had known in school, something was wrong. Then again, none of them had been the same since the war, and Harry always hated to see the changes it had done to people he had known.</p><p>“I know,” Harry echoed but didn’t know how to continue, were they on speaking terms now? Had they ever been, or was this new territory? He did know that Malfoy had always been intense about his parents, or perhaps everyone was this way about their own parents. Harry was pretty intense about the people he considered family, so supposedly it made sense. They were quiet for a couple more minutes.</p><p>“Lovely, your table manners are just how I remember them,” Malfoy said cynically and was twirling his glass on the table with his long fingers. How did Malfoy know about Harry’s table manners, he wondered? A question surely best to leave unasked.</p><p>Harry tried to compose himself and strike up a discussion, “Right, so what brings you here?”</p><p>Malfoy did not look happy that Harry was making conversation, but then again, he wasn’t happy when Harry didn’t make conversation so… it might have just been Harry that he was not happy about. Somehow Malfoy still decided to take Harry up on the offer and said, “I was just running some errands for my mother, I remember this pub was nice enough so I decided to drop in for a traditional English pint, haven’t had those in a while.”</p><p>Harry decided to ignore the obvious question, he didn’t want to seem too eager to know where Malfoy had been all these years, and instead went for the boring one. “So, you’ve been here before?”</p><p>“One time,” Malfoy frowned uncomfortably, “on a date.”</p><p>Harry’s eyes probably widened a little because Malfoy continued immediately, “What? You think the rest of us don’t have lives?” he then paused and where he had been sitting rigidly upright until now, leaned back in the booth, perhaps trying to calm himself, “It was rubbish anyway, the bloke was definitely oversold by Parkinson.”</p><p>Now Harry had to struggle to keep a neutral face, learning all these intimate details about Malfoy, why was he telling Harry all of this? Was the beer really that strong? He tried his best to look like all of this was not incredibly vexing, which it was.</p><p>“What’s the matter, Potter? Homophobic, are we?” Draco’s tone was sarcastic but his face was not amused. Harry wished Malfoy would have even had the decency to not stare at his face, which was going quite red at the moment.</p><p>“Er, no. I…” <em>Also like men?</em> Harry snapped his mouth shut, there was a detail he did <em>not</em> have to share with Malfoy, and he really should not, “so, er… you haven’t been in England for a while then?” Harry tried to change the subject, perfectly normal for someone who is not at all uneasy in the conversation, right?</p><p>Judging on Malfoy’s face, his plan was not working. The git was measuring Harry’s face, like he was trying to read his mind of what the fuck he was going to say before, but thankfully seemed to renounce such efforts. “No, in fact I haven’t.”</p><p>What a brilliantly vague response; if Harry didn’t know better he’d say that Malfoy was intentionally dragging the conversation on. Good thing that Harry was used to interrogating reluctant people, and was willing to go to the lengths of sounding stupid when he did. “So… are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” He asked directly.</p><p>Malfoy looked very pained by the conversation, but after a few seconds apparently decided to just give in. “Fine,” he uttered and rolled his eyes, “after the trials when I lost the Manor, I couldn’t find a reason to stay in this foul place, or worse, risk seeing your wretched face again, so I moved to Italy. Tuscany to be specific.”</p><p><em>Italy? </em>“Italy?” Harry voiced, that explained the tan and the golden hair, “What have you been doing there?” Maybe the M in the ring didn’t mean Malfoy after all, especially if the man had been abroad all this time.</p><p> </p><p>“Not anything illegal if that’s what you’re asking!” Malfoy scoffed and took a sip from his pint again. He was quiet for a moment, and Harry didn’t experience the urge to fill the silence. “I bought a place and a potions shop,” Malfoy continued, more calm, “that’s where I’ve been.”</p><p>Malfoy owned a potions shop. What a mundane thing to do after serving Voldemort himself. At least it sounded like honest work, and Italy was a nice place, right? Harry remembered that Malfoy had always been good at potions, too. Maybe eventually he wasn’t up to anything at all, just maybe. “Sounds lovely, good for you Malfoy,” Harry replied without a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he looked at the man’s face, waiting to receive a look back.</p><p>Malfoy nodded slightly and faced Harry’s stare. “What about you then? Except abusing the magical legal system with your presence,” he sneered, but more amiably this time, “how many kids do you and that Weasley girl already have?”</p><p>“Do you think if I had kids I’d be sitting in a pub alone on a Saturday night?” Harry huffed, shaking his head a little. There it was again, the kids. He really wanted to be spending a Saturday night with his kids, not sitting alone at a pub in London. Correction, not alone, with <em>Malfoy.</em></p><p>“I suppose that’s a valid point. Continue,” Malfoy leaned back in the booth and eyes Harry curiously.</p><p>Why was Harry even telling Malfoy this? Maybe he was just surprised by the direct nature of the question, or he felt like he owed details of his life to Malfoy after his disclosure. “Ginny and I broke up, years ago already, in fact. She’s playing in Scotland for the Magpies these days.”</p><p>Malfoy made a humming sound as a sign of him processing the information, sprawling his legs lazily and staring into the distance. “Well, I’m sure you’ve found a suitable bride to continue your mediocre lineage.”</p><p>Harry snorted humourlessly, how sad his life was. Or rather, it wasn’t, but Harry wanted so much more, he thought he had more to give than catching some thugs that were selling illegal potions. “Not really, I’m more or less married to my job at the moment. Why are you so interested about my dating life anyway?”</p><p>“I’m really not,” Malfoy lifted his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, though Harry noticed that Malfoy also didn’t look at him, “guess I’m just looking for more reasons to feel shit about myself.”</p><p>“Well cheers,” Harry said and clinked his glass against Malfoy’s that was resting on the table, “I’ll drink to that, too.”</p><p>They sat in silence for a while, both begrudgingly sipping from their pints. The pub was now crowded and the volume had risen remarkably. People were sitting around in tiny tables covered in glasses and standing at the bar, all talking and laughing. It was considerably warmer too, and that combined with the ale that was almost gone from Harry’s glass made his cheeks redden. Malfoy was pale as always. <em>Well isn’t this a way to spend a Saturday night</em>, Harry thought, and to his horror noticed that he actually didn’t mind sitting here with Malfoy, his former arch nemesis.</p><p>“So, what are you going to do once your mum gets settled? Go back to Italy?” Harry didn’t know why he was asking all of these questions, probably just to fill the silence. It must have been because of that, there was no other reason for it.</p><p>“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, quite,” Malfoy replied, he still wasn’t looking at Harry, but was rather eyeing the witches and wizards scattered around the pub. Harry noticed that he wasn’t scowling anymore.</p><p>“Ever planning to return to England for good?” Harry seriously had to stop interviewing Malfoy, but he couldn’t stand the silence between them, it didn’t feel comfortable in the slightest.</p><p>“Honestly? I’m not sure if I could do it, too many memories,” Malfoy shook his head and shuffled his feet, Harry felt Malfoy’s boot accidentally touch his shin and quickly pull away, “blasted McGonagall though, offered me a job as the Potions Master at Hogwarts, apparently Slughorn is retiring after this school year.” Malfoy looked uneasy in the same way in which a murderer looks at pictures of his victims, Harry thought it was quite appropriate.</p><p>He nodded slowly. So Slughorn was retiring then, Harry was surprised that it had taken him this long, Horace wasn’t a young man when Harry and Dumbledore had gone and tried to convince him to return to Hogwarts as the Potions Master, and that was twelve years ago. Maybe it was good that he was finally re-entering his retirement days, good for the students, especially. Then Harry realized something. “That would make you the Head of Slytherin house, too, no?”</p><p>Malfoy was nodding slowly, as in deep in thought, “Indeed it would,” then moved his gaze to Harry, “suppose you wouldn’t approve, you always hated Slytherin… and me.” <em>Getting straight back to the personal stuff I see, </em>Harry thought.</p><p>“I always thought it was more that everyone in Slytherin hated me,” Harry shrugged, “but yeah, I did hate you,” he snorted, it all seemed so long ago, stalking Malfoy’s comings and goings, being convinced that he was devising evil plans at every turn. Now Malfoy gave him an incredulous look, but made a weird face like he was struggling to hold back a smirk – a tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth.</p><p>After one more long silence, Harry uttered, “You’d be good for the job.” Instantly he felt like a tit and wondered what on earth had possessed him to make such a remark. He stood behind his words though. Malfoy was made for the position, Harry thought about Snape and how horrific he had been as a teacher and as a human, but how loyal he had proved to be in the end. Then he thought about Slughorn, who was pretty much the polar opposite, a fine teacher and a nice enough person, no spine though. Malfoy, then, was tough enough to not take any crap, while undoubtedly being capable of leading a formidable house such as Slytherin, <em>and </em>teaching potions.</p><p>Surprisingly, Malfoy did not seem to take this as a mocking comment, which was good because Harry hadn’t meant it as such. “Why thank you, but I think I’ll let someone else take on the task. Someone that is not quite as… <em>loathed</em> by the wizarding community,” Malfoy was frowning at his pint, and Harry did feel a tiny stab of pity for him. It must not have been easy being him, at least lately.</p><p>“I know what that feels like,” Harry shrugged and looked at Malfoy.</p><p>The blond git raised his stare right back at Harry, “Do you, Potter? Because the last time I checked you were more or less fucking loved by everyone,” he scoffed.</p><p>“Oh, like that time everyone thought I put my name in the Goblet of Fire somehow? What was the pin you made everyone wear? Potter Stinks was it?” Harry was ready to describe some memories, “What about the other time when the Ministry slanted me in the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, saying that I was lying about Voldemort being back? Or after that, when they put a bounty on my head? Or–“</p><p>“Fine,” Malfoy scowled, “I suppose you have a point. Didn’t think you’d still be so bitter about the pins though,” <em>Harry wasn’t,</em> “you’re better at being loved <em>and</em> better at being hated than me, cheers,” Malfoy emptied the last of his pint and almost slammed it on the table.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Harry protested, somehow Malfoy always knew how to turn things around to feel sorry for himself. Harry hated that to be honest.</p><p>“Well, as lovely as it has been, I’m afraid I have to run, Potter,” Malfoy stood up from the booth and gave Harry quite the evaluative head-to-toe stare “until next time you arrest a member of my family.” Malfoy turned around and disappeared into the crowd before Harry could say anything, an obvious talent of his. Not that Harry would have had much to say to that. Except maybe <em>Don’t conduct shady businesses if you don’t want to be arrested, </em>but it didn’t have quite the cool ring to it.</p><p>Harry counted that it was three times in two days now that Malfoy had managed to make him feel like a complete arse with his parting comment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Occupational Hazard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Monday morning Harry arrived to work to find the permission slip on his desk denied. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, Veritaserum was illegal after all. Judging by the lack of other case-related memos on his desk he figured that there hadn’t been a sighting of Dargan yet, he sighed and put down the piece of parchment.</p><p>Harry removed his outer cloak and draped it on one of the chairs once again. His Sunday had been slow as always. He had woken up late and even then, laid in bed for ages before getting up and going to the gym. The blond man that had once caught his attention had made a reappearance, and Harry had tried his best to avoid his gaze. He had reluctantly noticed that the man shared some common characteristics with Malfoy, but had quickly directed his attention elsewhere in order to not ruin his only free day of the week.</p><p>That had not worked though, and he had ended up thinking about his peculiar conversation with the git. Harry had tried to process all of the information that he had grudgingly learnt: Malfoy had moved to Italy to run his own potions shop, Harry had never taken Malfoy as the entrepreneurial sort, but clearly life was full of surprises, he thought. He recalled Malfoy being good at Potions back in school, but had always just assumed that it was because he was Snape’s favourite. Regardless, Harry didn’t have much against him going about his business in peace. Harry hadn’t ever considered moving abroad, although now that he thought of it, he’d never much travelled anywhere before. Besides Scotland, of course.</p><p>Another new piece of news was that McGonagall had offered Malfoy a job at Hogwarts. Harry had to admit that that made him trust Malfoy a bit more, knowing that McGonagall trusted him. Malfoy had said that he wouldn’t accept the position, but Harry had still entertained the idea of him as the Head of Slytherin house. To him it suddenly seemed so obvious for Malfoy to take the job. Harry had wondered what it would be like for him to send his kids to Hogwarts one day and have Malfoy, his former rival, teach them, even be their Head of House. <em>Probably not very different than Snape teaching me</em>, Harry had thought upon recalling that James and Snape had also been at odds back in school. He wished that Malfoy wouldn’t treat his kids, or anyone for that matter, the way Snape had treated Harry.</p><p>Then there had been the third piece of personal information that was nagging away in the back of Harry’s mind. The little fact that Malfoy was into men. Harry did not really know what to do with that information, but it didn’t seem to leave him alone, and he didn’t know why. He acknowledged the fact that it was in no way his business and that he should simply ignore it, but it seemed like an impossible task. For now, Harry had decided to just <em>stop thinking about it</em>.</p><p>Now he grabbed the permission slip again and didn’t so much as sit down before walking into the fireplace and emerging from the green flames in Kingsley’s office. Harry lifted up the piece of parchment in his hand at the Minister who clearly was already used to Harry storming his office on the regular. “Denied?” Harry demanded.</p><p>Kingsley took a deep breath and put down his quill, before leaning back in his chair and bringing his clasped hands together on his chin. “Ah, Harry, I was waiting for you to show up.” Harry hated Kingsley’s nonchalance against his irritated mood.</p><p><em>“Denied?”</em> he repeated slowly, and crumpled the paper in his hand.</p><p>Kingsley took another deep breath before standing up and walking from behind his desk to talk to Harry. He motioned for him to sit down in one of his maroon armchairs. “Harry, you’re asking for permission to brew Veritaserum, you know that’s been illegal for a decade.” Again Harry reminisced the time thirteen years ago when Snape had threatened to spike his pumpkin juice with the stuff if he went through Snape’s private potions cabinet again, only to later find out that the real culprit was Barty Crouch Jr Polyjuiced as Moody. How times had been more lenient then. Alas, rules were established for a reason.</p><p>“That’s why I’m asking for your permission instead of just doing it,” Harry huffed and stared at the empty fireplace.</p><p>It was quiet for a bit, before Kingsley said anything. “You know it’s not up to me, my hands are tied,” he uttered in a low voice accompanied by a hand gesture, palms up, that signalled that he couldn’t do anything about it if he wanted to.</p><p>Harry thought it was utter bullshit, Kingsley was the <em>Minister for Magic</em> for Merlin’s sakes, who was tying his hands? If someone in the wizarding world had the power to do something, it was him. “Are they?” Harry challenged his claim and gave the man a stringent look.</p><p>Kingsley raised his hands as a sign of surrender, maybe to signal that he wasn’t the threat. “I’m not going to give you permission, Harry!” he lowered his hands and took one more deep breath, “Look, why can’t you just go do some good old-fashioned police work?”</p><p>Harry was about to combust right then and there. <em>Good old-fashioned police work? </em>He had never heard such ridicule. Kingsley had been an Auror himself for fuck’s sake, he of all people should know that when you have nothing to go on there’s nowhere to go. Did he think Harry was requesting this for the sheer fun? It would take a full month to brew too! Harry launched out of the chair to stand in the middle of Kingsley’s office. “We have no leads!” he yelled, “Kingsley, please, I know you want this potion out of the streets as much as I do. Think about the elections that are coming up, if we can’t close this case before the ballots go up it’s not going to bode well for you.”</p><p>Harry knew he had pulled the right string when Kingsley didn’t immediately protest his outburst, or throw him out of his office. He knew he was going to get what he wanted. Kingsley was a damn fine Minister, and Harry wanted him to continue in the job, and obviously Kingsley wanted it too. Now the man rose from the chair slowly to pace in front of his table, looking deep in thought.</p><p>“Sometimes you must go the extra mile,” Harry added, keeping his voice as steady as possible.</p><p>Kingsley let out a very long sigh, before nodding and turning to Harry. “Fine, you’ve convinced me, but don’t take it as any kind of indication that I am to be manipulated this way in the future,” Kingsley stated very sternly and returned back to sit at his desk.</p><p>Harry conjured up his most boyish smile, the one you give to your grandma when she asks if you’ve been good in the hopes of getting some money. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”</p><p>Judging on the look that Kingsley now gave to Harry, he saw right through his little act. “Who would’ve known you’d grow up to be such a schemer.” He was shaking his head to himself.</p><p>Harry cleared his throat. “Thank you, Kingsley,” he wanted to sound as reliable as possible, in case the man changed his mind.</p><p>“I do have one condition though,” Kingsley asserted and sat up straighter in his chair, “if you’re really on the mission to find out the truth, you have to call Narcissa Malfoy back to the Ministry and interview her again… with Veritaserum.”</p><p>Harry had agreed before he had time to think of the consequences of such an action. There was surely a shitstorm to be dealt with what it came to Draco Malfoy being overly protective of his mother who was just released from prison. A small price to pay to never see him again. Although lately Harry hadn’t felt the regular wave of nausea when thinking about the bastard.</p><p>Kingsley nodded affirmatively. “Lovely, I’ll get the paperwork started, you can owl Mrs Malfoy tomorrow.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Tuesday 4 March, 2008</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mrs Malfoy,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There have been some new developments in the case that You are a suspect in. The British Ministry of Magic thus informs You that it may come to pass, that You must come to the Ministry in order to be re-interrogated with the aid of Veritaserum. This way the Ministry can be sure of Your innocence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Minister for Magic has placed a decree, which states that any witches, wizards, or other magic folk to be interrogated with elixirs, potions, or serums are to be notified before 30 days of their scheduled appointment. In case You have an allergy, a hypersensitivity, or other condition towards the brew in question, You have the right to file an appeal of this decision within 14 days of receiving this letter. In this case follow the instructions attached.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>H.J. Potter</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Head Auror</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Department of Magical Law Enforcement</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The British Ministry of Magic</em>
</p><p>Harry folded the letter into a Ministry envelope, and closed it neatly using a wax seal with the Ministry symbol on it. Narcissa’s address was already on the envelope, printed ready, as had been the body text in the letter, now Harry only had to hand it to one of the official Ministry owls to be delivered.</p><p>***</p><p>The beginning of that week was slow. Monday and Tuesday Harry was waiting for something to happen, for someone to spot Ridgenorth. He couldn’t stand just sitting in his office all day doing sodding paperwork when he could be arresting the bastard. How long would it take for someone to call him in? The sod had an arrest warrant out for fuck’s sake! It was bound to happen any of these days.</p><p>In the meanwhile, Harry had fetched the wretched ring from evidence and gone through the Ministry’s library in the search for books that could maybe help him solve what the hell that M meant. He wanted to rule out that it denoted M for Malfoy, he didn’t know why, or perhaps it was because he was sick and tired of that family’s shenanigans, but he didn’t want it to be Malfoy. Or maybe, just maybe, he had had to admit to himself that Draco had moved up from <em>despicable</em> to merely <em>terrible</em> in his mind.</p><p>The search for the ring’s meaning had to wait, though, because an hour after Harry had arrived to work on Wednesday morning, Evergrey busted into his office. He looked hurried and was wearing an outer robe. Harry jumped a little when his door opened with a thump, and quickly closed a book about the Sacred Twenty-Eight that he had been leafing through.</p><p>“We just got notified that someone has seen Dargan on the eastern outskirts of muggle London,” Evergrey was panting as if he had been running to tell Harry, he appreciated the devotion, “he has been seen entering a building there where he might be staying at.”</p><p>Harry stood up immediately and grabbed his outer cloak, swinging it on. “Well let’s go then,” but he had to stop mid-step when he remembered Kingsley and his anxiousness about the upcoming elections, “hold on, Patrick, do we need a permission for this shit again?” Because if they did, Harry was not going to wait around to get one, he wanted to catch the guy and be done with it.</p><p>“I have a preapproved permission to go arrest Ridgenorth on sight, don’t worry about it,” Patrick said, pulling a piece of parchment from his inner robe pocket and displaying it to Harry. Kingsley’s messy signature was gracing the lower left corner of the paper, Harry nodded. “I’ll alert Rivers and Crooker, let’s go catch this guy,” Evergrey was already turning around and about to march out the door when Harry called out.</p><p>“No, we’ll go alone, it’ll raise less suspicion,” he walked towards Evergrey who looked mildly surprised, but not enough to comment, apparently. “You’ve been there before, right?” Harry asked while firmly grabbing the man’s arm through his robe, he nodded in reply, “Brilliant, take me there, then.” With a loud crack, they were off.</p><p>Side-Apparition still made Harry nauseous, and he had to lean on his knees for a few seconds before standing straight. Fortunately, the air outside was crisp and the queasiness in Harry’s gut quickly vanished. It was the beginning of March; the streets were dry and the sky was bright blue with white dots of clouds. The cold wind was sharp and dug into every bit of bare skin that was exposed. Harry couldn’t feel his ears after two minutes and the wind was pulling his hair every which way.</p><p>The street was wide and the tall buildings on both sides harboured apartments, only a few shops were located on the ground floors of the buildings, and the whole neighbourhood looked like it had seen better days. The houses looked like they were built roughly half a century ago, and were mostly forgotten in this silent part of the city. Some very used cars were parked in front of the buildings, which indicated that there were still some muggles living in these parts.</p><p>Evergrey motioned towards an especially rough looking building with stained bricks and a few broken windows, “That was the place he was seen at,” Patrick further pointed to a window on the first floor of the house, facing the street, “in that window.”</p><p>Harry pulled out his wand, eyeing the entrance of the building suspiciously, “Right, you go through the back, I’ll take the front.”</p><p>Evergrey looked a little apprehensive about this plan, granted, usually they had two people checking the back exits and two people going in at the front. Yet, four Aurors in a muggle neighbourhood would be alarming at the least and a good reason for a suspect to take off, and they couldn’t afford this one slipping from their hands. “Do you think that’s the safest option, sir,” Patrick hesitated, and rightfully so, “we don’t know if this guy is dangerous.”</p><p>Harry shook his head in frustration, they should be going in already, not drawing more attention to themselves by standing in front of the entrance in fucking <em>Ministry robes</em>. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he batted the comment away with his hand.</p><p>Evergrey nodded reluctantly and silently slipped into a side alley with his wand raised, his cloak flying in the wind behind him.</p><p>Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, and tried the front door with his free gloved hand. It was locked, nothing that a little Alohomora couldn’t fix. Harry felt stupid being anxious, after all, he had been through a million situations worse than this, he was just grabbing a suspect, he wasn’t even doing it alone for fuck’s sake.</p><p>Now he closed the door behind him silently, and headed for the concrete stairs on the right side of the corridor. On the left there were countless metal mailboxes for the residents, though some of them already had cobwebs on them. The staircase smelled like dust and feet. There wasn’t a sound in the whole building, which made Harry very suspicious. His boots were silent against the stairs, and he was grateful that they weren’t made of wood, at least stone was quiet.</p><p>When he reached the first floor, he turned to scout the apartment where Ridgenorth was allegedly staying at. There were two doors on the other end of the corridor, the right hand one ominously ajar. A streak of light flooding into the dim corridor from the room showed the infinite number of dust particles floating in the air. To Harry’s headache, he realized that that was the apartment with the window where Dargan had been seen. The man could be lurking anywhere, waiting to jump Harry, and he raised his wand once again, starting to make his way towards the door as carefully as he could. The streak of light partially illuminating the corridor was so bright, that it made everything else in Harry’s line of vision exceptionally dark.</p><p>The hallway was completely silent, the only sound coming from the very gentle steps Harry was taking. He could hear his quickened breath and tried to stay as quiet as possible while making sure there was no one lurking in the shadows. Casting Lumos would surely make him known. With every step he was nearing the door, the light calling him in. Harry was approaching the door, and took a deep breath before stepping into the room, senses heightened to hear every sound, feel any draft that was out of place. He pushed the creaking door fully open while holding his wand up and ready to attack.</p><p>Harry could hear his pulse in his ears when he scanned the room with his eyes. There was no one there. He let out a deep sigh that was half relief and half disappointment. However, the room was not devoid of signs of someone living there. The narrow bed facing the door was made, the small wooden table with one chair beside it had a notebook and some papers lying about. A kettle was on the stove along with a cup and some cutlery. There were a few other papers taped on the walls: a map of London with red X’s marked on it, some illustrations and lists that Harry couldn’t make sense of.</p><p>He approached the table and carefully opened the leather-covered journal to reveal a list of names. <em>Distributors? Buyers? </em>Harry’d have to investigate further, so he picked up the book and slid it into his robe’s inner pocket. He then walked over to the stove, and upon extending his hand to touch the kettle lying on top of it, realized it was still hot. Before he could so much as finish his thought, the first curse flew by his ear. Someone behind him blasted the cupboard beside the stove into pieces with Confringo.</p><p>Harry swung around on the spot and only nearly managed to block the Incarcerous heading his way. He moved away from the stove and anything else that could subsequently be blown up, and was now standing in the middle of the room. He cast Petrificus Totalus, but Dargan was too fast and slid aside. The man had apparently managed to get a replacement wand after his original one was confiscated by the Ministry. It appeared as though he had materialised from thin air, and was now throwing jinxes at Harry faster than he could block them. Harry tried to cast Levicorpus, but missed. He wondered in desperation where Evergrey was when he needed backup.</p><p>That thought cost Harry one Protego, and a stinging jinx hit him right in his left thigh. Before he could react, he saw something flash in the darkness of the corridor, and in the next moment he realized a kitchen knife was spinning through the air, only to hit him in between his lower ribs. Harry yelped in shock. Dargan followed him into the bright room, and now Harry could see him properly for the first time. The man’s dark silvery hair was dishevelled by the duel, and there was dust on his purple robes from hiding out in some corner, waiting to ambush Harry. His eyes were focused and his manner nonchalant as he was giving Harry a lesson he would never forget. He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young either. In his file his age was not mentioned, but Harry estimated him to be somewhere between 40 and 50.</p><p>Dargan was throwing more hexes at Harry, without saying a word, forcing Harry to back away towards the window, trying still to cast Expelliarmus and Reducto at the man. Finally, in one swift movement, Dargan hit Harry right in the chest with Stupefy, whose force sent Harry hurling through the window behind him.</p><p>To be honest, Harry didn’t remember much after that. He remembered landing on top of a car before falling onto the street. He remembered Evergrey running up to him, shocked at seeing the knife that was sticking out of his side. Harry tried mumbling that it had hit the notebook in his pocket, but was not sure if Patrick understood him.</p><p>He came to a couple of seconds later when the man was shaking him gently, Harry drew in a sharp breath, something somewhere was definitely broken. “Bloody hell, Harry, what the fuck were you thinking?!” Evergrey was talking loudly and frantically, trying to keep Harry from passing out.</p><p>“Did we get him?” Harry slurred, he could barely get a word out, let alone breathe. Knife wound or not, Harry realized between drifting in and out that he was in a lot of pain.</p><p>Evergrey laughed hysterically at the question, “Fuck no, do you see him around? We have to get you back to the Ministry, I think you’ve broken some ribs to say the least,” he then followed the statement with muttering, “Merlin’s beard, Harry.” Harry remembered nodding and then Patrick Apparating them away, sending him swirling through space.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry was slipping in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. He remembered being Apparated and moved around a lot, different people in his view every time. First it was Evergrey and a couple other Aurors, then it seemed like the first aid physicians in the Ministry’s healing robes, all speaking frantically and calling his name, voices muffled like it was coming from another room. When Harry was passed out, he dreamt that Malfoy was there, his voice demanding and shrill as always, and Harry remembered thinking that he was really sick of the git turning up everywhere, apparently even in his dreams now. The last thing he remembered was being hurried along a white corridor on a hospital bed by two witches in green robes, before passing out completely. His dreams were incoherent and mostly featured his oh-so-familiar nightmares about Cedric’s death, the death of Sirius, and the Battle of Hogwarts. It wasn’t pleasant.</p><p>Now he was slowly coming to, feeling weighed down by sleep like it was an Erumpent sitting on top of him. His head was pounding and all of his limbs felt extremely heavy and aching. It was like the worst hangover ever. Harry’s eyes fluttered open to evaluate his situation: he was lying in a hospital bed in a white room, bright daylight flooded in from the only window there, <em>Was it the next day already? How long had Harry been unconscious? </em>He looked down to see the St. Mungo’s symbol embroidered on his hospital gown, and a glass of water along with a few potions placed on his side table.</p><p>He then saw someone sitting in the corner of the room, lazily leafing through an old issue of <em>Witch Weekly</em>. Harry quickly closed his eyes and pretended to sleep before Malfoy would notice he was awake. <em>So, he wasn’t dreaming before?</em> Harry had too many questions that he wanted answered quickly, but only after Malfoy would find his way out – what was he doing here anyway? Unfortunately, it seemed that the tosser had noticed Harry’s movements, “You know, there is a very fascinating quiz here according to which I have the perfect qualities to be the famous Harry Potter’s dream girl.”</p><p>Even though he tried to feign sleeping, Harry couldn’t help blushing. He remembered Hermione telling him that WW had made the quiz about him, roughly a year ago when he became Head Auror. He had never seen it with his own eyes, nor did he wish to. Now, however, he had other things to be annoyed about, like sodding Malfoy infiltrating his peaceful death-like slumber. “I see this issue is a tad dated, I reckon they should make a new one don’t you think?” There was a light thump of a magazine being discarded.</p><p>Harry slowly opened his mouth to speak, but kept his eyes shut. “What a shit fever dream, I really wished my unconscious would get some new material already,” his voice sounded like it was coming from someone else’s mouth, it echoed inside his head and sounded completely strange.</p><p>Harry heard Malfoy snort. “I’m sorry to inform you that this is not a dream,” the man said in a scornful tone, “though I would much prefer it to be,” he added dryly.</p><p>“What are you doing here Malfoy?” Harry asked drearily and opened his eyes to see him sprawled on the only chair in the room. Malfoy looked the same as always, black robes, white hair combed back, smirking at Harry like the complete tosspot he was. Harry happened to catch his own reflection on a small mirror that was hung on the right side of the window, he almost cringed when he saw the cuts on his face, perhaps from shards of glass falling on him when he flew out the window.</p><p>“Well, as it happens, I actually came to the Ministry to yell at you for that blasted letter you sent my mother yesterday, about the truth serum,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly, “when that little sidekick Auror friend of yours Apparated there with you hanging on his arm, practically dead you were, and as unpleasant as it was, I generously volunteered my assistance.”</p><p>Now it was Harry’s turn to snort at Malfoy. “What kind of evil spirit must have possessed you to help <em>me</em>, I wonder. From what I remember you were trying to get rid of me the whole time we were in school together,” Harry’s throat felt scratchy as he was speaking, and his voice cracked up slightly towards the end. Malfoy was so full of shit Harry couldn’t believe him.</p><p>“That was ten years ago, Potter. Sure, I tried to unburden my life of your existence, but I never tried to <em>kill you</em>,” Malfoy paused for a few seconds, and then looked a little bit uncomfortable as he continued, in a low voice, “to tell you the truth, you looked pretty bad, there was quite a lot of blood and you weren’t responding. I merely helped Patrick bring you here, that’s all.”</p><p>Harry frowned, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Never in a million years would he have relied on <em>Malfoy</em> to help him. Why had he stayed in the room with Harry? How much time had already passed? Even Malfoy had some limits to how long he would wait to badger Harry about the letter. Harry remembered that even though the git was trying to get rid of him for seven years, Harry had also almost killed Malfoy with Sectumsempra, so maybe they were even. <em>Still.</em></p><p>“Well, in that case, thanks,” Harry forced out the polite reply even with how unnatural it sounded. He moved his gaze to his arms, which he was now trying to move. They felt stiff and were aching still when he lifted them slowly from his sides onto his stomach and back. He wiggled his toes and shuffled his feet underneath the sheets. “So… what happened to me exactly?” he asked carefully, feeling foolish that he had to interview Malfoy of all people about his condition.</p><p>“From what I heard, you got blasted through a sodding window and onto the street by some wizard you were fighting. You looked like shit, too, so I don’t doubt it,” Malfoy scoffed and shook his head, “honestly Potter, sometimes I think you have a death wish.”</p><p>“Come on, it was only from the first floor, it wasn’t that bad,” Harry tried to sound nonchalant and waved his hand in the air to get the message across that he didn’t mind being tossed around once in a while. He wasn’t quite sure why he was trying to impress Malfoy, but he had a feeling that he was under a lot of painkiller potions at the moment.</p><p>Malfoy gave him an incredulous look and sat forward to lean his elbows on his knees, like he was looking at a scientific discovery. His limbs were very long, Harry couldn’t help his observations. “<em>Only the first floor, </em>I have to inquire, are you perhaps mental!? You broke your collarbone, your hip bones, and a bunch of ribs, you had a knife sticking out of you for fuck’s sakes!” Malfoy’s voice had gone up and his face was getting red, but he seemed to be catching himself and sat back in the chair, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“The knife only hit the notebook in my pocket,” Harry defended himself weakly, and received a scathing look from the blonde git. “How long have I been here anyway?” He couldn’t figure out what day it was, or maybe the hospital windows had been conjured to show daylight whenever he was awake.</p><p>Malfoy shrugged, “A little shy of two hours.” <em>Two hours? </em>It had felt like Harry was being handled around for way longer than that. His limbs sent him an unpleasant reminder that he hadn’t been there for long enough; when a shooting pain came from his hip, Harry clenched his jaw and bit his teeth together to not let out a grunt, and out came only a sharp draw of breath. The scene earned a mildly concerned look from Malfoy, which Harry tried his best to ignore. “The Healers spent an hour repairing all of your fractures,” the man added, “and it might take longer than that to properly heal.”</p><p>“Well, I feel fine,” Harry lied once the pain went away enough for him to talk, he tried to relax on the bed, fearing another stinging wave of pain would arrive, it didn’t, “so you can yell at me about the letter now.” Harry just wanted to get this over with so maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to see Malfoy again.</p><p>Now the bastard sighed tiredly and stood up. He grabbed his outer cloak and swung it on in one smooth motion. He didn’t look arrogant, just bored, and somehow Harry hated that even more. “Don’t think I will, lost the urge for it somehow, probably all the blood from your near-death experience.” Malfoy took a few steps towards the door, but stopped at the foot of Harry’s bed when he spoke.</p><p>“It was not a <em>near-death experience</em>,” Harry scoffed and shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes. Even it had been, Harry had been much worse off loads of times, and this little incident was not even close to breaking the top ten of every time he almost died. Malfoy turned to look at him drearily, and Harry faced his stare. A few silvery hairs escaped from behind the man’s ear to frame his pale face. Malfoy’s grey eyes were measuring Harry, but his face was unintelligible. Somehow it made Harry’s scalp tingle, but he didn’t look away.</p><p>Malfoy was the first to deter, sweeping the strands of hair back behind his ear. “Well, you looked pretty dead to me.” His tone was cold but Harry had a feeling that something else lurked under there as well.</p><p>“Fine,” Harry said, but demanded one more answer from Malfoy before he would piss off again, most definitely leaving him feel like an utter tit with some smooth one-liner, “so why’d you stay, if you weren’t waiting to tell me off?”</p><p>Malfoy shot Harry a sharp look, like he was trying to perform Legilimency on him. Harry was grateful that we was a passable Occlumens, although he didn’t exactly feel anyone rummaging through his mind. If it came to it, there was nothing really to find in his mind, not anymore. His life was as dull as anyone’s, if not more even. Harry felt some sort of comfort knowing that his boring old routines were very far from what his life had once been. Be that as it may, he wouldn’t appreciate Malfoy getting his hands on his feeling of nibbling loneliness and melancholy.</p><p>Eventually Malfoy shook his head, like trying to shake away an unpleasant thought. “Merlin knows,” he huffed, not looking at Harry, “but I know I didn’t spot many other people who’d care enough to rush to see you either.” Malfoy now turned to look at Harry again, this time pretty arrogantly, it was as if the git was attempting to emphasize how much he loathed Harry’s lack of popularity these days. Harry wanted to protest the claim, but didn’t find one argument that would back him up. Malfoy was such a fucking wanker.</p><p>Only when he calmed down a bit a peculiar thought dawned to Harry, <em>many <strong>other</strong> people who’d care enough to rush to see him</em>, was Malfoy implying that he <em>cared</em> about Harry? No, it couldn’t be. They hated each other, or at least shared a deep aversion between them.</p><p>Harry ended up just staring at Malfoy, who was staring back at him. Harry was trying to conjure his most scornful look, but realized that he could never beat the master. Truthfully, Harry was getting pretty sick of Malfoy’s games, always avoiding some personal elephant in his mind’s room and hiding behind sneering remarks and arrogance. Before Harry could challenge him to speak up, Evergrey entered the room with a start. Malfoy looked like a bucket of cold water had just been thrown in his face, and he gave a hurried glance at both Patrick and Harry. “Right, I was just leaving, I’ll leave you two to it,” Malfoy nodded at Evergrey but did not make more eye contact, and swiftly left through the open door. <em>What a bag of dicks</em>, Harry thought.</p><p>Yet, Malfoy did help in getting Harry to the hospital. Though he himself said that it was only because Harry had looked so bad. <em>Practically dead</em>, he’d said, but why would he care whether Harry lived or died? Or was this just an indication that he had some kind of basic human decency? That must be it, Harry concluded, reluctant to give Malfoy even that much credit. Anyone would have done it, even Malfoy, that absolute cock.</p><p>Now Evergrey grabbed the chair recently abandoned and moved it closer to Harry’s bed. “How are you feeling?” The man sat down, looking a little tired, he was eyeing Harry up and down anxiously. Harry felt horrible for putting Patrick through what had just happened, he was under enough stress as it was.</p><p>“Like shit,” Harry snorted lightly and gave his colleague a reassuring smile. His ribs were sore and his hips were aching, every time he moved his arm his collarbone gave him a sharp reminder to not do that. Yeah, he felt like shit, like he was just tossed out of a window.</p><p>Patrick shook his head and leaned back in the chair with a long sigh. “That was quite the stunt you pulled back there, give me a bloody heart attack you did.” He brought his measuring glance back to Harry, like it would be possible that he would spontaneously catch on fire as a side effect of some treatment.</p><p>“I’m sorry Patrick, I promise I’ll try to keep in mind to not get hurled through a window any time soon,” Harry gave the man another crooked smile, but when he didn’t receive a reciprocation, he adopted a more serious stance, “look, I truly am sorry that I put you through this, I promise it won’t happen again, I’ll be more careful.”</p><p>Now Evergrey nodded solemnly, but looking more relieved, “I’ll hold you to that.”</p><p>“I expect we didn’t catch him then,” Harry lifted his eyebrows while he asked the question, it was a stupid thing to ask, but he wanted to divert Patrick’s attention away from him. Being the target of other people’s protection and the source of their anxiety was not the person he wanted to return to being.</p><p>Patrick nodded, “You expect correctly, but the important thing is that you’re okay.” <em>Well fuck, that worked out well.</em> What would Harry have to do for everyone to stop worrying about him so much? Probably avoid getting into exceedingly dangerous situations, for starters. Although as Malfoy had so graciously pointed out, he didn’t even have that many people who cared about him. Maybe he shouldn’t be so resistant to Evergrey’s worry.</p><p>“Thanks Patrick,” Harry smiled awkwardly, and then luckily remembered something that would surely divert the conversation away from him, “what about the journal?”</p><p>“Ah, you mean this?” The man pulled a black leather notebook from his pocket, it had a hole on the side where the kitchen knife had dug into it, “Saved you from serious injury, that.”</p><p>Harry decided to ignore the latter comment, but to push on with the detective work, “Did you have a look yet?” He remembered seeing lists of names in the book, thinking that they might be important. He thanked his decision to pick up the journal and take it with him, otherwise he’d have another wound to heal, a more serious one perhaps.</p><p>“Yes, indeed it seems to contain catalogues of names categorized as either distributors who work for him, or major buyers whose names he has managed to record. I already put a bunch of our people on the case to find the people named here, to arrest the distributors and to confiscate all memory potions they come across.”</p><p>“Brilliant, we’ll have answers in no time,” Harry nodded, he really appreciated when criminals did their work for them, so considerate. Now he extended his arm to reach for the journal, “Can I see?”</p><p>Evergrey shrugged and handed Harry the notebook. He thumbed the black leather, and thoroughly browsed it through. He paid special attention to the names of distributors, but there was no Narcissa Malfoy there, nor anyone else with a name starting with M. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved, or to suspect Narcissa to be the mastermind of the whole operation, she certainly had the brains for it, but she didn’t have the motive. When Harry reached the last page, he saw something sticking out of the inner cover. Harry pulled out a piece of parchment, on it there were scribbles that looked like strange symbols, arranged in neat lines. “Did you see this?” He asked and showed Patrick the drawings.</p><p>The man shook his head in disconcerted manner, “Looks like some kind of magical cipher, do you recognize it from anywhere?”</p><p>Now Harry wished that he had paid more attention in Ancient Runes, but how the hell could he have anticipated that he would ever need such proficiency? “I don’t, but to me it looks like some kind of a formula. Perhaps it could be the recipe for the memory potion.” If that was it, it could definitely come in handy for the Ministry to have in store, just in case.</p><p>Patrick nodded and took the journal along with the note that Harry was handing him. “I’ll take this to the Department of Mysteries, maybe they can figure it out.”</p><p>“Thank you, I’ll help you track down Ridgenorth tomorrow,” Harry said and was just about to start devising a plan to catch the bastard, when he caught a careful glance from Patrick, “what is it now?” He was tired of people not speaking their mind.</p><p>The man sighed, and paused for a few seconds before talking, “Well, first of all, you’re going to have to spend the night, I’m sure the Healer that took care of you will be back later today to explain to you the specifics,” Harry was just about to interrupt him, when Patrick raised his hand signalling that he was not done, “second of all, the Minister ordered for you to take a full week off before returning to your duties, you will probably receive an owl before tomorrow, and before you interrupt me I’ll say this too, it may be that he’ll retire you from the case.”</p><p>Harry tried to sit up straight in the bed, but every injured bone in his body reminded him to not go through with such foolish actions. “I’m off the case!?” Harry huffed, slouching back onto the bed, “why the fuck would he do that?” Granted, they hadn’t gotten that far yet, but who would be better to run this case than him? He was the head of the bloody department after all!</p><p>“I think, but I’m not sure, that there might be a conflict of interest,” Patrick raised his hands to remind Harry to not shoot the messenger, then shrugged. He avoided Harry’s gaze, but Harry wasn’t sure why.</p><p>“How is it a bloody conflict of interest!?” Harry’s voice was shrill, he still didn’t understand, why the fuck would Kingsley want him on desk duty?</p><p>“If I had to guess, it would be because of your history with the Malfoys. Sure, they’re not prime suspects at the moment, but Narcissa is still involved in the case, and his son just left the room!” To Harry’s annoyance, Patrick was making decent points, and he decided not to argue. He settled for brooding.</p><p>“Right, I guess we’ll just have to see then,” he bit his lip sourly.</p><p>“Harry, don’t worry about it. You focus on healing, I’ll tell you if there are developments with the case.” Harry truly didn’t deserve to work with Evergrey, he was too nice, way too nice to get involved with Harry, who was a complete dick. Here he was, whining about work while lying in a hospital bed for something that was completely his fault.</p><p>“Thanks, Patrick,” he struggled to say. Harry felt pretty ashamed, and frankly wanted to be left alone to feel sorry for himself and to mull over all of the information that he had just received. Evergrey seemed to take the hint, because after a few more words exchanged he excused himself and left to go back to the Ministry with the notebook, leaving Harry by himself.</p><p>That afternoon a pink-haired Healer in her fifties in green robes came to talk to Harry about what was going on with his treatment. Apparently, Malfoy had been quite accurate when it came to his injuries: cracked ribs, hips, and clavicle. Apparently there had been a real danger of him breaking his spine, but fortunately his back muscles had taken the hit by reflexively protecting the spinal cord. The woman was holding a clipboard with Harry’s information, and explained to him that even though all of his bones were intact now, it would take up to 20 hours for them to be completely back to normal. Harry had to spend the night, but would be released first thing in the morning. Until then, he would have to take a potion every four hours to keep the pain at bay, and try to stay put.</p><p>“No heavy exertion for a week after being released, no exercise, no alcohol, no sex,” the Healer read from her list. <em>At least the last one wouldn’t be a problem,</em> Harry thought to himself bitterly. “And, and this is just my personal recommendation, no more flying out of windows, clear?” She gave Harry a stern look followed by a crooked smile to which he responded in kind.</p><p>“Oh, and this arrived for you,” the woman pulled out a Ministry envelope from her pocket and handed it to Harry, who thanked her. She didn’t stick around to find out what the letter said, but politely left the room.</p><p>Harry opened the seal with the Ministry’s symbol on it, and quickly glanced the neat handwriting on the other side that said <em>Mr H. Potter, Room 302, St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London.</em> In the letter were all the things that Evergrey had talked about, and more. The core message was that Kingsley thought Harry’s actions had been reckless and had not only endangered him, but had also made Kingsley look like an unfit chief, but that he hoped Harry was feeling better soon. It also said that Harry would have to take sick leave for seven days, and that upon his return he would be off the case because of his ties to the Malfoy family. Harry read the letter quickly, sighed, and closed it, chucking the parchment aside on the table.</p><p>Harry had never been removed from working a case. He did acknowledge that it wasn’t because of his skill or lack of fitness for the job, it was simply out of his hands. If he could remove all of his connections to the Malfoy family, past and present, he would. But alas, his life was what it was, and now he would have to lay low for a while, doing paperwork. He still felt shitty about the situation, even though he tried not to think about it.</p><p>Later, in the evening, when the sun was slowly setting behind his window, his door suddenly opened and Hermione stepped in with Ron right behind her, hand in hand with Rosie. Harry gave them a wide smile and attempted to sit somewhat more upright in the bed. For a second, he remembered all those times when Ron and Hermione had visited him in the hospital wing in Hogwarts, and felt a little silly that more than ten years later the situation was pretty much unchanged. Except now there was little Rosie, all smiles as always, being lifted on to Harry’s bed. She gave him a shy peck on the cheek, and then sat down, wiggling her legs over the railing. Harry loved her very much.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Hermione placed a small green flowerpot with yellow daffodils on his side table, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as well, before sitting on the bed beside Harry’s feet, “we talked to a Healer outside and she told us that they mended your bones, what you did was really reckless Harry!” Hermione had to have been a nervous wreck, that’s when she usually couldn’t help but scold people right after making sure they were okay. Harry felt bad for putting her through that, Evergrey too. He would really have to start thinking about other people besides himself when it came to doing dangerous things.</p><p>“I’m alright, thanks,” Harry replied apologetically and suddenly felt a warm wave of comfort wash over him. Even with how independent he thought he was, it always felt good to be cared for, looked after. He was glad Ron and Hermione hadn’t completely forgotten about him, but then felt guilty for even thinking that they would.</p><p>Harry looked at Ron for the next comment, “Think I’m alright with the kiss, thanks,” the lad pulled the chair under him and sat down. Harry chuckled at this, but immediately remembered why that was a bad idea, he bit his teeth together for a second to let the wave of pain pass.</p><p>Hermione had returned to looking worried when she saw Harry’s attempt at hiding his discomfort, the cuts on his face probably didn’t elicit reassurance either. “When I heard what happened I wanted to come here immediately, but Patrick said it’d be best if we let you rest for a bit,” she said and grabbed Harry’s hand. He instinctively gave it a gentle squeeze.</p><p>“It’s alright, really, I’m fine,” Harry tried to nod at them convincingly. He was quite ready to change the subject right about now.</p><p>“Bloody hell mate, when Hermione told me what had happened… have you gone daft perhaps?” Ron was shaking his head disapprovingly and crossed his arms on his chest.</p><p>“I know I know, I should’ve been more careful,” Harry sighed, he’d already gone over it a hundred times in his head. He should have cast Revelio, he should have brought backup, he should have planned it more carefully. He should’ve, he should’ve, he should’ve.</p><p>“You think?” Hermione let out a humourless laugh and a long sigh right after. The wrinkles that had formed onto her forehead were getting deeper as she was measuring Harry up and down to see if he was really as okay as he claimed.</p><p>“Were you catching bad guys uncle Hawwy?” Rosie inquired and looked at Harry eyes wide and glistening. Her hair was especially wild that day and her face only peeked out of the bushy curls. Harry didn’t really know how to respond so he went with the truth.</p><p>“Yes, I was,” he smiled at her carefully.</p><p>“Did you catch them?” she continued. A sting of guilt that had nothing to do with his aching bones travelled through Harry, he managed to get himself sent to the hospital, and it was pretty much for nothing. Actually, it was for nothing.</p><p>“Not this time sweetie pie,” Harry tried to give her a brave face, but felt it faltering a little. She just nodded and that was the end of that exchange. He appreciated her talent of ending conversations.</p><p>Ron and Hermione stayed for about an hour, talking about this and that. Harry was grateful that they knew him too well to make more of a fuss about the incident. Instead, they talked about work, about Rosie’s new love for flying, and about the new Quidditch shop that was about to open next to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes on Diagon Alley. Ron also mentioned that the long-awaited opening for a second WWW in Hogsmeade was planned to take place in September when students would return to Hogwarts. The next one would be in Edinburgh, which made Harry think about Ginny. Not yearningly, not bitterly, only with a hint of past nostalgia.</p><p>“Bollocks, I almost forgot, George sent you something,” Ron started rummaging around his pockets, and managed to pull out two plastic packages and what seemed like a box of chocolates, “he says that <em>these,</em>” Ron handed Harry the Extendable Ears, “are for police work, and that <em>these</em>,” subsequently placing the chocolates in his lap, “are to help your miserable love life.”</p><p>Harry felt a red flush crawl from under his hospital gown onto his ears and to his face. If his bone-dry love life was ever going to pick up, he hoped to Godric Gryffindor that the object of his affections would never ever find the chocolates in his possession. He wouldn’t be caught dead having them. Harry cleared his throat and studied the red box, “Laced with some type of love potion, I presume?”</p><p>“Oh, most definitely, this is a new formula too, so you’re kind of like our guinea pig on this,” Ron grinned and sat back in the chair, extending his legs forward.</p><p>“Well, er… thanks,” Harry grimaced, he didn’t know what to do with the chocolates, so he was just awkwardly holding on to the box. Rosie was clearly intrigued by the candy that had suddenly appeared, and was casting Ron disapproving looks since no one had given her any chocolates.</p><p>“No worries mate, they’re practically yours anyway since you were the first to invest and get the business going,” Ron was casually brushing over the fact that the gift clearly made Harry uncomfortable.</p><p>“When will you get to go home?” Hermione, to Harry’s great relief, changed the subject. She didn’t look half as happy about the gifts presented as Ron did, and had probably only let him bring them as a joke.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” Harry said, “but I have to be on sick leave for a week,” he added sourly.</p><p>“That’s smart, we can do something together on the weekend,” Harry appreciated Hermione’s attempts at including him in their life, but he didn’t want to impose, so he settled for a polite nod. He felt like any time he was visiting them more than once a month, he was somehow intruding in their family life, like he was a fourth, soon to be fifth, wheel in the group.</p><p>“Right, I think we have to get going, after all, it is a school night,” Ron adopted a surprisingly grown up tone, and ruffled Rose’s hair, making it even more impossibly outrageous than it already was, “we’re going to have that pint I missed soon, right?”</p><p>“Yes, right, of course,” Harry replied and smiled at him again. After the seven days’ ban of alcohol. He did miss his camaraderie with Ron, so he was looking forward to sitting down with him alone for a change.</p><p>Rosie gave Harry a gentle hug before being carried away by Ron. They exchanged goodbyes and slid out of the door, Rose waving at Harry from Ron’s shoulder.</p><p>Right, what was Harry going to do with two pairs of Extendable Ears and chocolates laced with love potion?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Mysterious Case of Draco Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day Harry was discharged. He had to wear his robes from the previous day, fortunately someone from the hospital had performed a thorough cleaning charm on them. However, the puncture hole from the knife was still very much there. Harry would have to familiarize himself with some repairing spells once he got home. He absentmindedly slid the Extendable Ears in his pocket, and grabbed the chocolates and the flower Hermione had brought.</p><p>The nurse who gave him the release parchment also gave him a potion for the pain, taken when needed. Harry left his room and navigated through the hospital to the reception counter, where he handed the wizard behind the desk the release form and they wished him a good day. Harry crossed the quiet entrance hall and walked straight into one of the outgoing Floo fireplaces only to step out at his place moments later.</p><p>Immediately Harry discarded the love chocolates into one of his emptier cupboards somewhere high up in his kitchen, but placed the daffodils on his dining table. He couldn’t help noticing how they brought a nice touch to his otherwise simple place; maybe he should get some more plants, perhaps a tablerunner too. He decided that if he couldn’t go to the gym and couldn’t go to work for a week, he would at least do something nice for his home. A clean-up couldn’t do any harm, he thought, looking at the layer of dust sitting on top of his upper cupboards.</p><p>That day he attempted to fix his ripped robes, and eventually managed the job, with difficulty. The knife puncture had left a mark, like some kind of a faint scar, on the fabric, that Harry couldn’t make better. Household magic wasn’t his forte.</p><p>That night he couldn’t sleep, it felt like every time he was drifting off, a stinging pain from one of the damaged bones woke him up, and he had to admit to himself that a little drop of the painkiller he had gotten from the hospital wouldn’t hurt. He took a small gulp of the bitter liquid and within minutes it had taken effect, minutes after that Harry was already asleep in his bed.</p><p>The next day, Friday, Harry woke up late, finally sleeping in after waking up for work almost every day the past two weeks. With his newly acquired energy, Harry dug up a book from the bottom of his bookcase called <em>Practical Household Magic </em>by Zamira Gulch, that Hermione had gotten him when he moved away from the Burrow. With the book in one hand and his wand in the other, Harry succeeded in performing a much needed deep-cleaning of the house.</p><p>He started with the kitchen, dusting everything off, reorganizing his cupboards, and polishing surfaces, maybe he would even cook now that it looked like someone actually lived there. Next he moved on to the living room, where he performed the same procedures, getting the dust off of his carpet and pillows, sweeping the ashes from the fireplace, and overall arranging the havoc that was currently taking place. Lastly, he cleaned his bedroom, changed his sheets and aired out his bedspread and pillow, dusted off the surfaces and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. The book contained a ready-to-use spell for a bathroom, and after a few tries, Harry managed that as well. A satisfying feeling came over him once he realised how much nicer it was to live in a clean house. He was even inspired to wash his windows for the first time in forever. Harry was amazed at how good he felt being away from work.</p><p>After lunch that day, Harry headed for the Carkitt Market just off of Diagon Alley to get groceries, real ones for once, not instant magic meals. The weather was quite beautiful, though rather cold, and the market was full of wizarding folk going about their business. Harry felt refreshed being out and about among the regular people, and not either hunched up in his office or at his house.</p><p>People were huddling around the vegetable stands and the fresh flowers that had arrived that morning. Harry picked up all sorts of stuff, maybe even too much for just him, and quite honestly wasn’t even sure what the half of it was. What does one do with a fennel anyway? Harry walked past the flower stand many times, until finally he caved in and purchased two blue hydrangeas, for which he would have to conjure a huge vase somehow. The witch selling the flowers smiled at Harry very kindly.</p><p>At Diagon Alley Harry found a nice interior design shop, not too posh, and selected that tablerunner that he’d thought about. He had never paid much attention to decoration, but now overwhelmed by the beautiful abundance, he couldn’t resist getting some new candles for the living room, and that vase for the flowers he had just bought. The shopkeeper seemed very eager to serve Harry, and gave him some chocolates from a nearby jar with his receipt.</p><p>At home he managed to put all of his new procurements in their place, and the hydrangeas found their spot near the window. After that Harry collapsed on the sofa, and fell asleep for almost an hour. He was rudely woken up by a Floo message from Ron asking him out for a pint the Friday week from now. Harry quickly wrote back, agreeing to the plan.</p><p>The rest of his sick leave went by quickly, with Harry sleeping a lot and reading books that he had gotten as presents but discarded for years. He wrote back to Molly who had asked him how he was and invited him to her traditional Easter Sunday dinner in two weeks. The last day of his time off was uncharacteristically warm for a mid-March day, the temperature reaching almost twenty degrees Celsius, and Harry spent most of his day in the garden, reading and napping.</p><p>He had a dream about Malfoy sitting by his bed at St Mungo’s, waiting for him to wake up, but suddenly the dream changed and he was in his own bed, and Malfoy was still there. He was sitting in the same chair, staring at him, saying <em>Potter</em> over and over again. When Harry woke up with a startle, a cold wind was giving him shivers, dreaming about Malfoy was always quite unsettling.</p><p>Today he was returning to work. A little wistful that his little break was over, Harry dragged himself through the Ministry Atrium towards Kingsley’s office, reminding himself that it was only two days before the weekend again, and pints with Ron. Before Harry had been dreading weekends alone, but recently he had achieved an amicable state of sorts of being by himself, thanks to the abundance of alone-time he had been given.</p><p>Now he was standing in Kingsley’s office. It was organized as always, and Harry wondered once again how that was possible, while his own office reminded him constantly of the aftermath of an Obscurus. This was not the time to ask for tidying up tips, however, Harry wanted to be reassigned back to the case.</p><p>“Harry, how are you?” Kingsley lifted his gaze from the stack of papers he was going through. Whatever happened, Harry swore he would never want to become the Minister for Magic, the amount of paperwork was tenfold to what he had now, and he had already developed a keen disliking for the task in the past year.</p><p>Now he nodded politely but firmly. “I’m good thanks, a little time off was just what I needed to get back on the case,” he said, hoping that Kingsley had perhaps forgotten that he dismissed Harry before.</p><p>The man gave him a sympathetic smile indicating that he hadn’t, and that he knew exactly what Harry was doing. “Unfortunately, Harry, I cannot give the case back to you, but not to worry, Evergrey is doing an excellent job of it so far,” he nodded at Harry reassuringly and clasped his hands together on the pile of parchments, “You should know this though,” he started, Harry did not have a good feeling about this, “since you were the one who applied for the Veritaserum to be utilized, and since you’re not on the case anymore, the Department of Mysteries has decided to halt the task indefinitely. Evergrey has decided not to reapply, and I stand by his decision.”</p><p><em>Of course they did.</em> “Right,” Harry said dryly. Technically, it wasn’t his problem anymore since he wasn’t on the case, which also meant that he didn’t have to deal with the Malfoys anymore. That’s why he had wanted the case to be over after all. Why didn’t he feel any type of relief?</p><p>“I should probably pay Mrs Malfoy a visit to tell her that,” Harry mentioned quietly. He at least owed her that much after arresting her, having her interrogated, and threatening to use Veritaserum on her. He owed her, he was not doing this to see Dr– <em>Malfoy</em>, he couldn’t care less about the git, he was only doing his job as a public servant.</p><p>Kingsley gave him a look that signalled how weird Harry’s intention was. It was not common for any Auror, especially the Head Auror, to make personal visits to people’s homes that were not directly related to important developments in a case.</p><p>“I don’t think another letter would go over well,” Harry tried to hastily explain, and apparently Kingsley agreed, indeed the Malfoys weren’t the easiest family to deal with. The man gave him a nod, although a suspicious one at that.</p><p>Just when Harry was about to leave, Kingsley interrupted, “Just one more thing, Harry.” Harry turned back around to look at the man questioningly. “No more jumping through windows, clear?”</p><p>Harry snorted lightly and nodded, “Clear.” Probably not a good idea to clarify that he hadn’t ‘jumped through a window’, at least willingly, and although everyone seemed to think so, Harry was not planning on getting hurled out of a building in the near future. Nasty business, that.</p><p>Some twenty minutes later Harry Apparated onto a quiet street. The weather had cooled down from the previous day, but a warm breeze was pampering London, and was now messing up Harry’s hair, he was glad he selected for a lighter cloak. All of the houses on that street were behind tall hedges, so that from the road one could only see the upper floor and the roof of a building. It was dead silent, and Harry’s boots made a light sound against the pavement.</p><p>He walked along the street for a minute before finding 101A, the first apartment in a row of terraced houses. Harry opened the iron gate carefully and took a few steps to cross the paved trail to the front door. The still untended front yard remained to his left, weeds sticking out of the tall grass. The house was quite modern: the smooth white walls were contrasted by black window frames and there were large windows to the garden. Said garden looked like a work in progress still, Harry thought.</p><p>Now he was standing in front of the door to the house, and had to take a deep breath as he placed a firm knock on it. What if Malfoy opened it? Suddenly Harry felt a wave of panic, he hadn’t really prepared what to say, and Malfoy was always so astute and nonchalant, pretty much the opposite of Harry. Also, he had never sought Malfoy out on his own, the bastard had always come to him, complaining about one thing or another.</p><p>Before Harry could think another thought, the door opened. In front of him stood Narcissa Malfoy, in the flesh. Harry was relieved and disappointed at the same time, though he wasn’t sure about the origins of the latter feeling. The woman seemed more composed than the last time Harry saw her, her hair was back to the style she had modelled ten years ago, the dark circles under her eyes had faded, she looked well-rested and less haggard.</p><p>Narcissa had a timid look on her face when she saw Harry on her front step, “Harry Potter, h-how may I help you?” she hesitated. Harry was sorry to see that she was acting almost akin to when she was forced to serve Voldemort. He realized that Narcissa probably thought that he had come to arrest her again or some other terrible thing.</p><p>“It’s about the case,” he started and realized that that was probably not the thing to say to put her mind at ease, “but don’t worry, er, you’re not in any kind of trouble, I’m just here to talk.” Harry wasn’t sure if that was any better, but the woman’s expression did change to a little less agitated one when she heard what he had to say.</p><p>“Sure, sure, come on in,” she nodded keenly and opened the door up more. Harry thanked her and tried to move inside as swiftly as possible. He immediately saw that the décor inside the house was very meagre, and stopped himself just in time from commenting on it, realizing that all of their property had probably been confiscated along with the Manor by the Ministry, for which he was a representative right now. He wondered where Malfoy was, surely he would have already appeared to sneer at Harry from behind some corner if he was in the house. Hell, he would have answered the door instead of letting his poor mother do it.</p><p>“A lovely place, are you getting settled in well, Mrs Malfoy?” Harry asked politely, because he sensed that this conversation was to be handled very gently. Ten years in Azkaban was surely a traumatizing experience for anyone, Harry remembered a bit too well the feeling that an approaching Dementor caused, and didn’t want to give Narcissa any more reason to feel afraid. He quite firmly believed in her innocence.</p><p>She looked a little bit more comfortable already, and motioned Harry to join her in the living room. There was a sofa and two armchairs, along with a coffee table and one small plant on it. There wasn’t even a rug in the room, let alone decorations of any kind. “Yes, thank you, I’m still getting my things in order, that includes acquiring some more furniture,” she smiled shyly and directed Harry to take a seat in an armchair near the fireplace, “can I get you anything, coffee, tea?” Her voice echoed in the half empty room.</p><p>“No, thank you, this is a quick visit,” Harry waved his hand to accompany his words. A new worried look settled on Narcissa’s face as she sat down on the sofa, she had avoided Harry’s gaze before, but was now looking at his face, probably trying to evaluate the gravity of the situation. “Does Draco need to be here for this? He’s out, right now, he’s not coming back until later.” Another inexplicable wave of disappointment washed over Harry, but he firmly decided to ignore it. He was here on business.</p><p>“No, it’s quite alright,” Harry said as calmly as he could, trying to appease Narcissa, “I’m going to go straight to the point,” he didn’t want to keep the woman in suspense, “it has come to pass that I have been removed from the investigation that you’re currently involved in.” Harry saw that the obvious question was already on Narcissa’s lips, so he chose to go ahead and continue, “The Minister believes that there is a conflict of interest between me and this family, your family, due to my and Draco’s history of being schoolmates, and obviously because of the trials right after, and I think it unwise to disagree.” Harry tried his best to justify the decision, even though he himself was still fairly pissed off that he had been dismissed. Be that as it may, he knew that there was nothing he could do to fight the outcome, and now he had to stand behind it. Narcissa merely nodded slowly to show she understood and apparently didn’t have anything against it.</p><p>Harry decided to continue. “So, er, as a consequence of this, the production of Veritaserum has been stopped, meaning you’re not going to be interrogated with it,” now that he was sitting in front of Narcissa and hearing himself say the words, he had to cringe internally at what an absolute dickhead he had been for ever requesting it. Narcissa looked visibly relieved and she leaned back in the sofa, letting out a long sigh. “And, I really want to apologize to you, personally, for sanctioning the use of the serum, it was not the right decision to make, and I’m sorry,” Harry said with difficulty, he really felt quite ashamed, he hadn’t even requested it to use on Narcissa, but on their actual suspects that they had in custody. Narcissa was just the unfortunate bystander.</p><p>“It’s quite alright, you were just doing your job,” came her surprising answer to Harry’s astonishment, he had really thought that she would have been angry, or even agreed with Harry that he had been wrong. If Malfoy had gotten away with everything this easily when he was younger there was no question as to why he had grown up to be so spoiled. Nevertheless, Harry was very grateful for the tolerance he was faced with.</p><p>“So, who is working the case now?” Narcissa asked and propped herself up on the sofa again to sit up straighter.</p><p>“Patrick Evergrey, he is my right-hand man, I trust him completely,” Harry stated with his most convincing voice, he didn’t want Narcissa to have to worry about the case anymore, she had paid her dues in Azkaban, and to Harry that was enough. She nodded looking persuaded of Harry’s faith in Patrick. “And like me, he is convinced that you’re not guilty, you were only at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Harry added.</p><p>Narcissa was visibly moved, Harry noticed that her hands, though clasped together, where shaking a little, and her voice cracked the tiniest bit. “Thank you, Harry,” she smiled at him cautiously. He couldn’t bring himself to say <em>You’re welcome,</em> when it was him who had been the arsehole all along.</p><p>Just as Harry was about to excuse himself and start getting up from the armchair, Narcissa suddenly added, “I can understand what Draco sees in you.”</p><p>Harry froze, he was sure he had misheard. For some awful reason his heart sped up for a few beats when he heard this. He hated himself for wanting to know more, if he legitimately hated Malfoy, he would have simply claimed he didn’t know what she was talking about and left the scene, never seeing another Malfoy again. But instead, he said, “Er, what do you mean, exactly?”</p><p>Narcissa looked a little embarrassed, and it reminded Harry a lot of Hagrid, notorious for accidentally spilling other people’s secrets. He would have to write to him again one of these days. Now Narcissa sighed anxiously, “Oh dear, I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she stared at the empty fireplace and twisted her hands in her lap, “it’s just, you know Draco was always a little obsessed with you back when he was in school. Every holiday it was Potter this and Potter that, sometimes you beat him at Quidditch, other times he was bothered that you were Dumbledore’s favourite, eternally he thought you were up to something. Even Lucius thought it was a bit much,” now she turned to look at Harry, “me… I saw right through him, it wasn’t just resentment, it was envy as well, and maybe a little something else, but I never dared to impose.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth was extremely dry and his hands had turned cold and clammy. This was way too much information for him to take in at once. He had always known that Malfoy was bad-mouthing him at every turn, but even to his parents? Constantly? Harry didn’t know whether to feel pissed or… flattered? To have unknowingly taken up so much space in Malfoy’s mind, a kind of silent torment. But what was he tormented about? He didn’t want to consider Narcissa saying <em>a little something <strong>else</strong></em>.</p><p>Now she was continuing, but Harry wasn’t sure he could bear any more. “To my understanding, he was pretty much over the whole thing these past years, he moved elsewhere, got himself a proper job, I couldn’t have been prouder, you know? Making something of himself even after some dreadful times. I just think he’s been quite lonely, not many people have been through what he’s been through,” Narcissa’s absentminded gaze moved to stare at the fireplace again, unfortunately Harry knew exactly what she was talking about with the last bit, no one understood what <em>he</em> had been through either, “but now that you’ve come back into the picture… I’m afraid he’s reverting back to his old ways.”</p><p>Harry was ready to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about, and largely, he didn’t know what she was talking about. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what she meant by <em>reverting back to his old ways</em>. Did she mean that Malfoy was obsessed with him somehow? And if it was in the same way as in Hogwarts, should he be looking over his shoulder?</p><p>“I know he’s been coming to see you, and even if he’s trying to hide it, I know he’s taken a liking to you.” That was the final nail in Harry’s coffin, how did she know? Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy being the most talkative type, telling his mother his goings on. Another thing that Harry was utterly confused about, was the fact that Narcissa somehow thought Malfoy <em>liked</em> him. Clearly, the twat had never felt a positive emotion towards Harry, it was pretty clear from his manner.</p><p>Somehow Harry was able to open his mouth and say something, even though there were a thousand things going through his mind at that moment. “Mrs Malfoy, I don’t mean to be impolite, but, I’m pretty sure your son doesn’t like me. As a matter of fact, it is quite clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”</p><p>Narcissa sighed and had <em>an</em> <em>amused smile</em> on her face, her voice was slightly apologetic when she answered. “You’ll have to excuse Draco’s manner, he was raised by Lucius, he adored him, and you know him, how he can be. But what matters with my son is not what he says, but what he does. You say he treats you coldly, but has he not come to meet you three times? Did he not help you when you were injured? I’m telling you, he would never do that if he didn’t care.”</p><p>Harry was silent for a very long time. Malfoy… liked him? That was undeniably the largest bombshell Harry had received in years. He wanted to deny that he might have felt similar feelings towards seeing the git around, and he did. Although, Malfoy had helped him that day to get to St Mungo’s. So, Malfoy <em>had</em> known why he had stayed and waited until Harry woke up, but then couldn’t bear it and left, tail between his legs.</p><p>Then something occurred to Harry, Narcissa had said <em>three</em> times. “But… the other day, at the pub, it was a coincidence that we were there at the same time,” Harry argued, and hated how weak his assertion sounded.</p><p>Narcissa must have heard it too, because she lifted an eyebrow at Harry, “It might have been a coincidence, it might not have been. Draco might have been shopping for me that day, but he certainly saw you, Harry Potter, go into a pub alone.” She didn’t elaborate further. Harry got a stomach ache. How did she know all of this? Also… Malfoy had followed Harry into the pub to talk to him? To try to… what, befriend him? Harry wanted to know what Malfoy wanted, but Merlin forbid he’d interview his damned mother about it. No, this was something he’d have to do face to face. Now he just had to find a way to talk to Malfoy alone without it being painfully obvious what he was doing.</p><p>Narcissa spoke again, “Just so you know, if you feel uncomfortable, he can take a hint.”</p><p>Harry smiled awkwardly and nodded, not knowing how to reply. The horridness of the whole situation made him nauseous; Narcissa telling Harry that his son, who had never demonstrated anything but loathing towards Harry, could take a <em>hint</em> from <em>Harry</em> that… what? That he didn’t want to be friends, or that he didn’t want to be <em>something else?</em> The entire conversation was so backwards it made Harry’s head spin. Trying his best to keep his composure, Harry got up from the chair, knees nearly buckling when he straightened himself. “I think it’s best I was on my way, you know how it is with work and whatnot,” Harry found himself blabbering and backing away towards the hallway.</p><p>Narcissa stood up as well, looking apologetic. “I hope I haven’t said too much,” she voiced with worry.</p><p>“No, no, er… it’s quite alright,” Harry reassured her, and was just about to open the door behind him, when a thought came upon him, maybe he could conduct some of that ‘good old-fashioned police work’ Kingsley had advocated. “Listen, you don’t happen to have a Malfoy family ring, do you?” he was thinking of the ring they had found on Dargan, and the M gleaming on it, he had to check that it wasn’t what it obviously seemed like.</p><p>Narcissa looked surprised, but replied, “Yes, I do, would you want to see it?”</p><p>“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble,” Harry answered trying to sound as polite as he possibly could.</p><p>Narcissa nodded and turned quickly to go open an antique looking dresser that was placed in the hallway with a mirror hanging above it. “Is it about the case?” she asked as she pulled a black velvet ring case out of one of the drawers, and now came back to present it to Harry.</p><p>“Just checking something,” Harry smiled at her quickly as he accepted the box, and carefully opened it. The ring resting on the black velvet pillow was silver, with snakes carved on the sides, and the Malfoy family crest presented in the middle. It was completely different from the gold and green ring that they had found, Harry let out an internal sigh of relief. He handed the box back to Narcissa, “Thank you for showing me this, now I best be on my way.”</p><p>“Let me know if you need anything with the case,” she answered simply, holding the black box in her hands. Harry nodded, not mentioning that if they needed anything with the case, Patrick was surely the one to contact her. He walked out of the door, and strode across the yard as fast as he could, Disapparating just outside the white metal gate.</p><p>***</p><p>Friday evening. Harry was getting ready to go out with Ron for the first time in ages. Maybe he was making a too big a deal out of it, after all, they were only going to a regular muggle pub. Harry didn’t think he’d ever been to one. He had dived into his wardrobe, which turned out to be quite underwhelming; the last time Harry had acquired muggle clothes was for Hermione’s parents’ anniversary party. He ended up selecting a white dress shirt which Harry didn’t remember to be quite as tight before, but it happened to be the only presentable non-wizarding shirt he owned, even if it was three years old. He paired it with simple blue jeans and black leather boots he had bought some years ago.</p><p>The last two days Harry had been preoccupied with what Narcissa had told him. That Malfoy had not only been obsessed with him in school, but that he might be again. What always came back around in Harry’s mind was Narcissa describing the way in which Malfoy had been fixated on everything Harry did. That it wasn’t only resentment and envy, but that it might have been something else as well. What else? There was one answer lurking in the back of Harry’s mind, but it was absurd, totally ridiculous an idea for Harry to even entertain. Sure, Malfoy was gay but even then, he and Harry had pretty much been mortal enemies back in the day. There was simply no way. Even Narcissa hadn’t had a clue about what it was, or maybe she just wasn’t telling Harry, but even so, he shouldn’t assume anything. In fact, why was he even thinking about it? He couldn’t pretend that he hated Malfoy anymore, but he certainly didn’t <em>like</em> him. After all, he was still an arrogant prick.</p><p>Harry didn’t even know how to feel about the whole business. Except when Narcissa had mentioned that Malfoy had been pissed when he had lost to Harry in Quidditch – that made Harry grin to himself, even after all those years. Now, however, Harry felt very confused: should he be mad? Flattered? Interested? All he knew for sure was that he had mixed feelings about the whole situation, and frankly he was a tad anxious about it. He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was very impressive, with his almost white hair and long legs, his nonchalance and yes, even his arrogant demeanour. On the other hand, he was Draco fucking <em>Malfoy</em> for fuck’s sake! <em>The </em>Draco Malfoy who had tormented Harry and his friends in school all those years, <em>the</em> Draco Malfoy who had tried to kill Dumbledore, <em>the</em> Draco Malfoy who had sided with Voldemort. Alas, a small voice in Harry’s head added that he was also <em>the</em> Draco Malfoy who had saved Harry from being recognized at the Malfoy Manor and who had helped him get to the hospital in time not two weeks ago.</p><p>Harry tried to shake these thoughts out of his mind as he was shaving in front of his bathroom mirror. As previously mentioned, he was not very handy with household magic: that included personal hygiene spells, like shaving. He had learnt it one way, the muggle way, and didn’t want to try a shaving spell in the fear of accidentally vanishing his nose or something. Now he was trying to shave as closely as possible, and then turned to the disaster that was his hair. Those spells he was familiar with, since his hair had always been such a pain, and now he combed it and styled it back neatly. Maybe he had overdone his grooming a tad, but if Malfoy had the tendency to always cross his way, at least he would have one thing less to be arrogant about. Realistically though, Harry could never avoid Malfoy’s disdain.</p><p>On his way out, Harry threw on a long dark grey wool coat and took a last look in the mirror. He was perhaps a bit overdressed for the occasion, but he didn’t have the time to worry about it anymore. Harry walked out of the door and Disapparated from the street.</p><p>The sun was setting as Harry was strolling towards O’Malley’s, the muggle pub where him and Ron were supposed to meet. The weather was chilly but windless as he reached the establishment and walked inside. The place was still quite calm, but Harry imagined it would be packed a few hours from now. The ceiling was high and featured wood and iron chandeliers, styled after the middle ages, perhaps. The pub was roomy, and huge tables had been placed around the floor. Harry spotted Ron waving at him from one of the smaller tables near the window, and made his way over.</p><p>Ron stood up to give him a hug, “Hey mate, how are you?” he was also wearing muggle clothes, although on the more relaxed side, black jeans and a smart jumper from a popular wizarding brand. His hair was more tamed and swept to the side. Harry couldn’t help seeing the resemblance to Bill, the only thing missing was the fang earring.</p><p>A smile spread instantly to Harry’s face when he hugged Ron back, every time he saw his old friends he felt an inexplicable wave of happiness and comfort. He knew he could count on Ron no matter what, and he could trust him with just about anything; it just made him feel so much more comfortable. “I’m good, I’m good, how are you? How’s Hermione?”</p><p>“Brilliant, she’s great, a little morning sickness still but she’s powering through,” Ron sat back down and Harry hung his coat on the back of the chair beside him on the other side of the table, “as for me, same old same old, heh. But you look very dashing tonight, what’s the occasion?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, seeing an old friend, and only owning a handful of muggle clothes,” Harry chuckled and shook his head at Ron’s comment. He reached for the drink menu and quickly browsed through the beer selection. Ron made a recommendation and Harry agreed the buy the first round. The pub was still half empty and Harry got his order from the bar in no time, he paid with his muggle pounds and returned to the table carrying two large pints. He sipped from his, the taste was bitter, but in a refreshing way.</p><p>“By the way, my mum hasn’t invited you to her Easter dinner thingy, has she?” Ron asked cringing a little, he took a big gulp from his pint.</p><p>“She has,” Harry mirrored the action and quickly swiped the foam off from his upper lip, “why?”</p><p>“Oh mate, I know she does this every year, just don’t feel too obligated to show up, y’know? Family dinners can be…” Ron grimaced and shuddered. He had always been a bit annoyed at Molly’s attempts at bringing the whole family together as much as she could, and Harry could understand Ron’s willingness to be on his own for once, but Harry had been on his own for long enough, and was honoured to always be invited to the Weasley family functions. He went as often as he could, it’s not like he had anything else to do. He should really get a hobby, or a significant other, or something.</p><p>“Well, I don’t have many others coming up so, I think I’ll be fine,” Harry felt a bit embarrassed that he was actually looking forward to the Weasley family event whereas Ron was playing it off as a nuisance. At least he would always show up when Molly invited him.</p><p>“Yeah? I hear Ginny’s gonna be there this year,” Ron shot an evaluative look at Harry’s face behind his pint as he shared the news. Indeed, Ginny had skipped the event the last four years, ever since she broke up with Harry, and had always put it on being busy with work. At Christmas she had only popped over in the morning and then left in the afternoon, where Harry arrived in the evening, and only got to hear about it.</p><p>“Are you still on about that? I’ll be fine, it’s been what… <em>four</em> year already. I think we’ve both moved on,” Harry wanted to add that they had been good friends before they started dating too, but didn’t want to sound like he was trying to convince Ron too much. Because he wasn’t. He knew for certain that he didn’t want to get back together with Ginny, their problems wouldn’t have disappeared. He still loved her as a friend, but that’s what had driven them apart in the first place. In a sense Harry wanted to see Ginny again, know how she was, have a regular conversation, he just hoped it wouldn’t be awkward.</p><p>Ron was measuring Harry’s face as he was speaking, like a human lie-detector. Fortunately, it seemed like he didn’t observe an irregularity and nodded. Both Ron and Hermione had been really touchy about the whole breakup no matter how much Harry had been repeating that it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like one of them cheated or did some other horrible thing. Maybe it was because everyone assumed that he and Ginny would live happily ever after. Now Ron downed the rest of his pint, and upon seeing that Harry was reaching the bottom with his, got up to get a second round of the same stuff. Harry gulped the rest of his beer too.</p><p>“How’s Rosie’s flying? She still doing it?” Harry asked when Ron returned. He was fidgeting with the coaster in his hand while sipping on the new pint. He’d love to take her flying for real sometime, after her first year at Hogwarts, be fun uncle Harry. Was it a problem if one also wanted to be fun dad Harry? That was clearly a question to be dealt with at home while lying in bed alone in the dark.</p><p>“Oh yeah mate, can’t get enough of it, she’s gonna make the Quidditch team her first year of Hogwarts, I know it,” Ron was nodding eagerly and put down his pint.</p><p>“It’s in her blood,” Harry nodded and sipped on his fresh beer. Harry was reminiscing the way McGonagall had pulled him out of class and he had thought he was going to be reprimanded, but instead he was made the new seeker, youngest in the century. With her current rate Rosie would outdo him for sure. In fact, Harry hoped for it.</p><p>“Ey, what’s that supposed to mean? Are you taking the piss?” Ron furrowed his eyebrows menacingly at Harry, who instantly remembered that Ron had only made the team in his fifth year, and would not have made the cut the year after if it wasn’t for Hermione’s Confundus Charm she used on Cormac McLaggen.</p><p>“What? No, ‘course not. You were good mate, but I meant more like… Ginny, and Fred and George,” Harry couldn’t help cringing internally when Fred’s name escaped his mouth. The whole Weasley family was very sensitive about his death and they rarely brought it up. Maybe it was their way of trying to move on, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what Fred would have wanted for his family and his memory. Be that as it may, it was their business, not Harry’s.</p><p>Now, however, Ron brushed over it quite smoothly, and ended up snorting at Harry, “Yeh, true, it is in her blood.” But then he went quiet for a long time, and Harry was thinking whether he should apologise for bringing Fred up. It had been an accident, but still. He didn’t want to be the reason for an awkward silence when it was supposed to be a light gettogether of two old friends. Just when he was about to open his mouth and say something, Ron interrupted him: “Tell you the truth, I’m quite scared for the baby to come, honestly.” A-ha. So, Fred wasn’t the reason why he had fallen all anxious.</p><p>“How come?” Harry asked simply and took a gulp of his pint. He noticed that both of them were going through their beers with quite the velocity. Maybe it was the topics that needed a little more alcohol to come out.</p><p>“Dunno, I guess it’s just… Rosie’s great y’know? But… It was just so much work when she was born you have no idea, I don’t think either me or Hermione slept more than three hours at a time for the first year. And now there’s going to be another, I just keep thinking, how’s Rose going to adjust to another person in the family? And how are me and Hermione going to do this again, it’s mental innit! I know I’m being stupid, it’s just something that keeps me up at night,” Ron let out a long sigh and took several gulps from his beer.</p><p>Harry was no expert in these sorts of things, though he someday hoped to be, and what Ron had just said was a lot to unpack. Harry decided to just start from the obvious. “Well, first of all, you’re not being stupid,” he had the urge to grab Ron’s hand but didn’t think it the smartest move, “having a kid is a huge responsibility, having two is twice that. But you’re a great dad and Hermione’s a great mum, and I know you’re both going to be fine. And what comes to Rose, you said it yourself she’s a great kid, and she’s going to love her baby sibling, so I think you have nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Ron sighed again shook his head, glancing at Harry from behind his eyebrows, “How’d you get to be so smart?”</p><p>Harry just chuckled and said, “Learnt from the best,” with a shrug.</p><p>Ron looked at him incredulously, thinking Harry was referring to him, before they both said “Hermione!” simultaneously and started chuckling.</p><p>When they had calmed down a bit, Harry adopted a bit more serious tone, “And you know, I’ll always be here for you both, I can look after Rosie any time, and I can try to look after the baby as well, as best as I can.” He would love to spend some time with Rose, how hard could it be to look after a three-year-old anyway? They were wizards for Merlin’s sakes.</p><p>Ron nodded and smiled at him gratefully, “You know I love you mate.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry smiled back at him, “love you too,” and after a moment of silence that he didn’t want to turn awkward he said, “now I’m going to get us some more beer.”</p><p>Ron cleared his throat, and said “Yeah,” in a much deeper voice than usual, perhaps trying to compensate for the soppy moment the two had just had.</p><p>Harry got up from the chair and realized that he was already quite buzzed. He carefully made his way over to the bar and ordered two of the same draft they had been drinking. As the bartender was filling the pints, Harry noticed someone on the other end of the bar, blond hair, and at first, he thought it was Malfoy. His heart involuntarily skipped two beats, until he realized that it was the man from his gym. He had seemed to have noticed Harry as well, because he mouthed <em>Hi</em> over the noise of the pub and gave Harry a relaxed wave of his hand. Harry went a bit red, but returned the greeting before paying for the drinks and returning to the table.</p><p>“Who was that?” Ron asked immediately, of course no embarrassing thing ever escaped his attention.</p><p>“Oh, no one… just some guy from the gym,” Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly. He definitely had never been caught looking at his bum, and worse, ever since, the bloke had had the audacity to greet him. Harry didn’t know what to do about it.</p><p>“Uh-huh, is that why you were blushing as soon as he said hi?” Ron smiled mischievously and did not break eye contact while having a sip from his pint. <em>Bastard</em>.</p><p>“I did <em>not</em> blush!” Harry hissed at him, even though it was getting loud in the pub already. He definitely didn’t want the guy at the bar to ever realize they were talking about him.</p><p>“Right sorry,” Ron took another sip, and stayed quiet for just long enough for Harry to think that he’d dropped the matter, “so you’re into blond guys then?”</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes, frustrated, “No, I don’t know– look, I really don’t want to discuss it,” even if he felt like he could tell Ron anything, didn’t mean he wanted to. He and Ron had never really discussed girls all that much, probably because Harry was had been dating Ron’s <em>sister</em>, which had made the topic definitely off the table. He didn’t consider himself a private person, but wasn’t that quick to share either, he couldn’t imagine talking to someone about such intimate things as desire.</p><p>“No, ‘course, just saying, maybe you could slip him the chocolates George sent you, eh?” Ron wiggled his eyebrows at Harry, who was very pained by the conversation.</p><p>“<em>Ron,</em> he’s a muggle, if nothing else, I’d get prosecuted for fuck’s sakes,” Harry said in a low voice, better to not discuss magical business too loud in the place. There was the other point too, which was that Harry would never, ever, succumb to such lows as to give someone a love potion in order to get some affection. Although, if things continued in their current path, that was, dryly, he was afraid someday he’d change his mind. Also, what made Ron’s suggestion even more bizarre, was that he had been under a love potion himself, when he accidentally gorged on some chocolates laced with love potion from one Romilda Vane, targeted at Harry at the time.</p><p>“Oh, in that case maybe not,” Ron frowned, then he was quiet again, sipping on his pint thoughtfully, “you know who else is blond and around, and <em>not </em>a muggle?” His face lit up in an ominous mischief that Harry didn’t want to know the cause of. He truly didn’t want to hear it. “Malfoy!” Ron announced gleefully, knowing that he was taunting Harry, he just didn’t know the real reason why it worked, “wouldn’t it be grand if you somehow gave him the love potion? He’d be obsessed with you! Imagine that… oof,” Ron was shaking his head joyously and laughing to himself at what a good jokester he was, sipping on his pint.</p><p>“Yep, imagine that…” Harry replied uncomfortably and felt a lump in his stomach upon hearing Malfoy’s name mentioned, he desperately wanted to change the subject. He was quite bothered by how much space the twat had already occupied in his life lately, and now this. “Speaking of… Kingsley took me off the memory potion case,” Harry announced, and was glad to see that it seemed to do the trick, Ron didn’t mention Malfoy again. He was as pissed off about it as Harry had been, and after a lengthy monologue about how Kingsley had always been rash in his decisions, and numerous suggestions as to where Kingsley could shove his dismissal, and how Harry could still get back on the case, not least of them plain extortion, Ron finally calmed down. Even that was after Harry had convinced Ron that he was okay seeing it unfold from the side lines.</p><p>Harry felt that others were more interested in his life than he himself was, they took things that had happened to him more seriously than he did, and never seized to try to help him. Harry didn’t want to think that they pitied him for being alone, because surely that wasn’t the case. Maybe he was just sailing through life and would one day wake up in his fifties and realize that nothing had ever changed. He didn’t know how to feel about that.</p><p>Currently Harry and Ron were on their fourth round of drinks, and Harry was feeling quite intoxicated at that point, it was only 11pm, too. The blond guy was sitting with a group of people in one of the larger tables, and Harry couldn’t help noticing that he was stealing glances of the bloke. With every gulp of alcohol, he started to look more and more like Malfoy, and Harry didn’t know how or why. He had already established that he didn’t hate the man, and was quite honestly a little impressed by him, but… but <em>he was Malfoy</em>, echoed the eternal prosecution in his head. So what? People change, don’t they? Had Harry changed? Had anything changed? Harry concluded that this should probably be his last drink.</p><p>“No, but seriously mate,” Ron slammed his empty pint on the table and slurred slightly, “fuck Malfoy, you deserve to be with someone great, someone who appreciates you and sees you for the great guy you are.” He nodded determinedly, and then slouched back in his chair, belching loudly.</p><p>Harry’s head was buzzing and a warm idle feeling spread from his stomach to his limbs. “Thanks Ron,” he replied slowly and downed the rest of his beer.</p><p>After finishing their drinks, they decided it was time to leave. They wobbled out of the bar into the cold night air. Ron performed his bountiful goodbyes and gave Harry a tight hug, going on and on about how great Harry was and how much he loved Hermione, overall Harry thought it was very wholesome. He wished he had someone to go home to. Then Ron gave him a final salute and Disapparated with a crack, leaving Harry to stand alone in the street. Harry hoped Ron didn’t splinch himself in the process, since one should never Apparate drunk. After having that thought, he did the same.</p><p>As Harry was walking along the street to his house, he was clutching his coat closed to protect him from the freezing wind. The biting cold made him sober up a little, and he almost jumped when he saw a dark figure sitting on his doorstep. He grabbed a hold of his wand in his inside pocket and was just about to point it to the trespasser, when they saw Harry and stood up, white hair catching the moonlight. <em>Malfoy.</em></p><p>This was not what Harry had hoped when he thought he wanted someone to come home to. At least, not like this. Suddenly, Narcissa’s words were echoing in his head. <em>What was he thinking?</em> Harry had to internally shake himself and focus. Malfoy was on his doorstep, why? What could he possibly have to say that he absolutely had to wait for Harry? How long had he been there? Harry had been away for two hours. And <em>how did Malfoy know where Harry lived?</em></p><p>Seeing the git now did not calm Harry’s beating heart, why couldn’t he just be calm? Harry straightened himself up even though he was shorter than Malfoy anyway, and strode up the few steps to stand on the tiny platform in front of his door. “What are you doing here Malfoy?” Harry inquired with his most bored voice while fishing his pocket for his keys.</p><p>“For Salazar’s sake, how long are you usually out on whatever foul businesses you’re conducting?” Malfoy complained with distaste, “you smell like a bloody drunkard, too.” He was standing very straight, wearing a completely black suit underneath his robes, and his almost white hair and pale face gleamed in the dark. He eyed Harry up and down, clearly wrinkling his nose at his muggle outfit, though Harry couldn’t help noticing that even when Malfoy was scowling, his eyes were lingering on Harry for an awfully long time.</p><p>Harry sighed tiredly. “I was out with a friend, if you must know. Not that you’d know anything about having a life.” The words came out of his mouth sounding much more hash than he had intended them. Malfoy’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything, and Harry had to add an embarrassed “Sorry”, which seemed to infuriate Malfoy even more. He started to turn a shade of red, although it was hard to tell in the dark.</p><p>Harry wasn’t sure whether to go inside or not. “I’m sorry, can I help you?” he asked. Usually Malfoy went straight to the point after the first insult, one of his better qualities. However, he seemed unsure what to do now that Harry had turned up.</p><p>“I know you visited my mother today,” Malfoy started, but lacked the aggressiveness that usually accompanied his statements. Harry’s heart jumped again, did that mean that Narcissa had told Draco what they had discussed? Harry wasn’t sure if he could deal with such a conversation right now, even though he had so boldly intended to have it. On the other hand, though, he was still a bit drunk, and maybe that would be all the courage he needed.</p><p>“On Ministry business, yes,” Harry said assertively, but was careful to stick to the topic, “was she upset?” he didn’t exactly know why he was asking that, true he had made sure to be considerate as to not give her any additional reason to be concerned, but still, he hardly cared for her son’s opinion on his table manners.</p><p>“No,” Malfoy scowled and looked at the flowerpot at the foot of the stairs like it had personally offended him terribly, “in fact, she said you were quite lovely and polite.” Harry could see how much agony it brought to Malfoy to repeat such praise about Harry, and he had to suppress a grin. You know, because he was <em>polite</em> like that. Malfoy looked positively pained at having to be in this position, which invariably raised the question, why had he come?</p><p>When Harry was sure his delight at the situation couldn’t be heard from his voice, he asked, “So, what’s the problem then?” Surely the twat wasn’t here to tell him off because Harry was nice to his mother. Though again, in Malfoy’s eyes Harry could do no right.</p><p>Now the git took a deep breath and shot a mean glare at Harry from under his eyebrows. “Listen, she told me that you’re off her case, and as much as I hate to say it, I don’t trust anyone else at that Ministry than you, as infuriatingly law-abiding as you are, to clear my mother’s name from this whole mess,” Malfoy obviously tried to pace himself from speaking too quickly and showing any kind of nervousness or desperation about the situation. Harry thought it was lovely how the wanker called it <em>her</em> case, as if the Malfoy family was once again the centre of the bloody universe. It was also a nice touch to insult him in the middle of the statement as to remind Harry that no matter how badly Malfoy needed him he would never respect him. What an absolute arse. Then there was one more thing that Harry had to point out.</p><p>Malfoy wanted Harry to clear <em>his mother’s</em> name from this mess. “And… by extension, <em>your</em> name,” Harry couldn’t help the cynical tone that coloured his voice and he accompanied it by rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He would milk this situation as much as he could. <em>Polite I hear… did your mother happen to say anything else nice about me? Perhaps about my dashing hair or my handsome looks?</em> Harry decided not to stoop that low… yet.</p><p>“Be that as it may, my point stands,” Malfoy straightened his posture and faced Harry’s stare. His face was somewhere in between scowling and daring, the lighting coming from the streetlights not doing his looks much favours.</p><p>Harry sighed again. “Right, I know you have nothing better to do apparently than to stand around waiting for people to come home from spending their Friday nights, but I can guarantee you, Patrick Evergrey is the best of the best, she believes in Narcissa’s innocence.” That was the only thing Harry could say, and even now he felt like he was repeating himself, he had already told all of this to Narcissa, so why the fuck was her prodigal son here now?</p><p>“That’s what my mother said,” Malfoy replied quietly and moved to glare at the pillar holding up the roof that was shielding Harry’s platform, and that way the entrance to his house. Harry was still holding the keys in his hand, and was now fidgeting with them slightly, he was getting frustrated at the conversation, and decided to go straight to the point.</p><p>“Then why, pray tell, <em>did you come?</em> Have you ever heard of owls for fuck’s sake?” Harry raised his voice at Malfoy, who seemed to snap his attention back to Harry. An unreadable expression had spread to his face once Harry had lost his temper, and the closest it could be described was somewhere in the ballpark of surprise, but there was something else too.</p><p>Now Malfoy suddenly went silent. The git shuffled his feet and looked back at the flowerpot in front of him. Harry was this close to losing it. Again he was in a situation with Malfoy where he knew there was something he wasn’t sharing, and Harry felt like a bloody rookie detective trying to fish out information.</p><p>After a few moments of silence, Harry had calmed down a bit and another thought dawned on him. “Did your mother say anything else?” he absolutely had to know if Malfoy knew he knew. He didn’t know why it felt so important to him right at that second, but Merlin himself couldn’t stop him from asking a question that would surely open a can of worms that couldn’t be put back.</p><p>“No,” Malfoy replied immediately and seemed to have gained back his sense of wariness, “why?” The blond man squinted his eyes at Harry suspiciously. Even Malfoy’s stance changed, he moved his legs a bit wider apart, firmer on the ground, like he was preparing for a battle, even if it was a verbal one.</p><p><em>Shit</em>, now Harry had to change the subject, shit shit shit. “Why are you here Malfoy?” Harry tried to reintroduce the question he had been trying to find the answer to this whole conversation. Malfoy wasn’t biting, he didn’t answer, he just kept looking at Harry evaluatively. Maybe to find out if Harry knew something he shouldn’t, and he did. However, Harry was getting impatient of Malfoy dodging all of his questions, although he was dodging one himself at the moment. He repeated the question, and then some. “Why are you here? Why are you always everywhere in my life?” His desperation was apparent, he just wanted to go to sleep.</p><p>Now Malfoy made a face, and Harry couldn’t determine if the hurt in his expression was real, or fake to piss Harry off. “Don’t worry,” the git scoffed, “after this you’ll never have to hear from me again.”</p><p>“No, I– that’s not what I mean,” Harry slipped, but tried to save it by returning to his Malfoy tailored catchphrase. He felt like he always ended up saying this exact same remark to Malfoy in every conversation they had, how was he the master of taking things completely the wrong way? Harry was not the only one getting impatient.</p><p>“What do you mean then?” Malfoy asked pointedly and crossed his arms on his chest, lifting his chin.</p><p><em>Shiiiiiit</em>. “Er… do you want to come inside? Aren’t you cold out here?” Harry tried his hardest in order to change the topic, and the perfect opportunity presented itself when he realized that his toes were freezing off.</p><p>“No, because I’m a wizard and I know how to cast a heating charm.” <em>A heating charm,</em> Harry always forgot that existed. He had wondered why it had felt like there was warmth radiating from Malfoy, but had assumed that he was so full of rage that it simply exuded out of him as heat. However, if Harry cast a heating charm now he would look quite stupid, so his toes would have to hold on for a little longer.</p><p>“Right,” he muttered in reply, but wasn’t sure how to continue. He just ended up staring at the flickering streetlight in the distance. He was tired and was truthfully pretty done with trying to fake a conversation, but remembered that he was still dodging a question from Malfoy.</p><p>“What is it, Potter?” snapped the impatient query and Malfoy dropped his arms to his sides again.</p><p><em>Well fuck, here we go then, </em>Harry thought, and started to give the uncomfortable explanation. “Nothing, er… it’s just that… your mum did say something else, about you…” he had absolutely no clue how to go about this business.</p><p>“Very well, let’s hear it,” Malfoy lifted his chin and fixed his posture as if he was preparing himself to receive some horrid news, which he kind of was.</p><p>Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Uhm, apparently you… you used to be quite… for fuck’s sake, I don’t know how to say it,” he grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes searching for something to look at, anything but Malfoy.</p><p>“Can’t be any more painful than this insufferable stuttering you’re putting me through,” Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms on his chest again, though he sounded a bit nervous. That didn’t calm Harry’s mind.</p><p>“Uhh… so, your mum told me that you used to be… well, obsessed with me,” Harry blurted out and regretted it immediately, he should just have kept his mouth shut to begin with, although he had to add, “I swear I didn’t pry, she just kind of said it.” Now Malfoy was turning a deep shade of red, and immediately looked away from Harry, he smoothed his hair and put his hands in his pockets, then took them out, then rocked side to side switching which leg to stand on. Harry didn’t know what to say, but he was pretty sure that nothing he would say would make the situation better, it would most definitely make it worse.</p><p>After a long and agonizing silence of them both just kind of standing there, Malfoy opened his mouth. “Well, I suppose it’s safe to say that I’m going to go Obliviate myself after this conversation.”</p><p>Harry couldn’t hold back a dry laugh. “Can you do me first, been trying to forget about it for two days now, can’t seem to manage it.” <em>Why did he say that? Shut up Harry!</em></p><p>Malfoy didn’t catch on to Harry’s joking tone, but instead flared, “Oh boo-hoo Potter, you’re really the victim here,” he again let his arms fall back on his sides and his hands balled into fists. He really looked like a child going to stomp his feet.</p><p>“If it’s not me then who? You seem to be the victim of <em>everything</em>,” Harry raised his voice again and gestured at the surroundings with his arms on the last word. He was mad and he was tired of Malfoy always playing the victim card, if anyone there was a victim it was Harry. Victim of his parents’ murder, victim of Voldemort, victim of the Malfoy family, and definitely the victim of Draco Malfoy right at this fucking moment.</p><p>To Harry’s surprise though, Malfoy didn’t get on the fighting stance. Harry would’ve bet galleons on him getting riled up and even throwing some hexes if he was in the mood. Instead, after a moment, he just stated, “Hm, suppose I might have a habit of being a tad overdramatic sometimes.”</p><p>Harry’s jaw almost hit the ground from the sheer uncharacteristic nature of the response, but he managed to keep his composure and say quietly, but sternly, “You think?”</p><p>Both of them were quiet for a long while. Harry was still fidgeting with his keys, and the bitter damp air started getting inside his coat and freeze his bones. It was half an hour to midnight, and the cold combined with his fatigue made him tremble most slightly. To his horror, Malfoy seemed to notice this, and astonishingly extended his heating charm on Harry with a discreet swish of his wand. A warm wave of dry air filled Harry immediately, and he lowered his arms from where they were, clutched around him to keep the heat inside. That was probably the nicest thing Malfoy had ever done for Harry, except for saving his life that one time, but this was quite remarkable nonetheless. Harry nodded as a thank you, because his jaw was still numb with cold.</p><p>After a few more moments of silence, Malfoy uttered, “So, what now?”</p><p>“You could tell me why you’re here, for starters,” Harry lifted his eyebrows and noticed that sensation was returning to his face, he wasn’t going to let go of this question as long as Malfoy was there. It was such an obvious question to ask too, he couldn’t believe Malfoy was just blatantly <em>not answering it</em>, the git could’ve just lied and Harry would have been okay with it, it was definitely more peculiar to brush it off.</p><p>Now Malfoy pursed his lips, and sighed sharply. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d want to know that,” he faced Harry’s stare without a hint of disdain in his expression.</p><p>“Try me,” Harry replied simply. What on earth could it be that would be so damn horrible that Harry couldn’t know? And, if it was so horrible, couldn’t Malfoy just lie and say it was because he wanted Harry back on the case or something? Did he actually <em>want</em> to tell Harry but was too afraid to? In situations like this Harry wished that he wasn’t an Auror and that he could just turn his speculative thoughts off.</p><p>“Tempting, but I don’t think I will. Perhaps another time.” Malfoy said coldly and straightened his already immaculate robes. Then he politely nodded Harry goodbye and left his yard, striding over to the street. Before Disapparating, he turned around expecting Harry to have already gone inside, but was perhaps surprised to see him still standing there, staring back at him. They exchanged a look that only lasted a second, before Malfoy was away again with the usual crack.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Marigold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the entire weekend, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. Whatever he did, the man was always there, in the back of his mind. Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him showing up to his doorstep wearing his damned <strong>suit</strong>, <em>waiting for him for what could have been hours,</em> then proceeding to have a mutually redundant conversation with Harry, and lastly, give him no reason at all for his visit. <em>I don’t think you’d want to know that</em>, he’d said. Those words didn’t stop bouncing around in Harry’s mind, tormenting him. He would have very much wanted to know that. In general, he hated not knowing things, and Malfoy seemed to always push that button.</p><p>Harry tried to come up with normal reasons that would explain Malfoy’s behaviour, but couldn’t come up with any. Why would someone act like he had, and have an ordinary explanation for it? At the end of every bout of wracking his brain he could only come to one conclusion: Narcissa was right. Somehow Malfoy was obsessed with Harry again, and he was either scheming to cast some horrendous curse on him that somehow required him to seek Harry out a bunch of times, or… or, there was always the <em>something else.</em> At this point Harry didn’t care which one it was, he just wanted answers. Well, he cared to the extent that he wished Malfoy wouldn’t cast a horrendous curse on him, so, it had to be the other option then. And that was really the thing driving Harry mad.</p><p>Thinking about Malfoy that way… was frustrating. It hadn’t, at least consciously, occurred to Harry before, but now that the thought had been planted in his head, it started growing roots he wasn’t able to remove. It was vexing to say the least – intrusive thoughts about Malfoy started popping into Harry’s head at random times: thoughts about his long legs, his pale slender figure, his blond hair that looked white in the moonlight but had caught some golden streaks, the way he ran his long fingers in his hair, everything about him was so utterly eloquent and maddening. He couldn’t explain it, but suddenly Harry felt a different energy running through him.</p><p>Harry felt like he could’ve used a bucket of ice poured on his head to somehow jolt him out of this bubble he was currently engulfed by. But, no matter how many cold showers he took, Harry couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that something was about to awake in him. It had been years since Harry was last intimate with anyone, and his sexuality had lately been repressed to say the least. He had been too busy with work, at least, that’s what he told himself. And now, in the darkest hours of the night, when everyone and everything was asleep, but Harry was tossing and turning, he might have slipped his hand in his pants and strictly thought of the blond guy from his gym. Strictly him, no one else.</p><p>On Monday Harry was almost glad to go to work, he craved anything that would wake him up from this weird nightmare he had been living in. The Ministry Atrium was packed when Harry strode through it in his usual fashion, greeting the wizard at the security stand and anyone else he knew. Being around people made him feel less detached from reality, it felt relieving to get out of his head more.</p><p>Fortunately, Harry got something else to think about right away, when he stepped into his havoc of an office and saw a pile of interdepartmental memos on his desk. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the business ahead. It ended up taking him a few hours to open them all – apparently it had been a busy weekend, since all of a sudden he needed to reply to various inquiries and questions, as well as let his self-writing quill note the most important things in his calendar that he never checked. One of the last letters was from Evergrey, and it contained a new case for Harry. It made him smile.</p><p>
  <em>Thought you needed a pleasant distraction so I fished this out for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.E.</em>
</p><p>Enclosed was a case description of a standard burglary, however, it was to Quality Quidditch Supplies on the north end of Diagon Alley. Harry felt cheerful reading Patrick’s heartfelt attempt to divert him from thinking about the case he was dismissed from, and by Merlin he needed the distraction from his own anguish. Harry had told Patrick that he loved Quidditch, but wasn’t sure if he knew that QQS had once been his favourite shop in all of Diagon Alley. Nevertheless, the gesture was awfully kind.</p><p>The case itself was pretty clear-cut: someone had thrown a brick through the shop’s window the past Saturday night and managed to escape with multiple professional racing brooms. Harry had to shake his head at the crude style of the break-in; one would think that magic folk would have some sort of creativity when it came to robbing things, at least vanishing the showcase or something. Anyone could Reparo a window!</p><p>Be that as it may, Harry was more than glad to have a reason to leave his stuffy office and the endless piles of parchments waiting for his attention, and go carry out some honest-to-Merlin legwork. He Apparated to Diagon Alley right away to meet with the owner of the shop who had reported the burglary. The window had already been mended. When he stepped into the shop, it seemed much smaller now than when he was still in school, the owner, Aradia Horntail, recognized him immediately. She was a witch in her fifties with vigilant eyes and a straight posture. Aradia seemed very on top of things as she came to greet Harry.</p><p>Madam Horntail was both surprised and pleased at the fact that the Head Auror had personally come to investigate the store’s break-in. Harry had to reveal that when he was younger he would visit the store frequently since he was a big fan of Quidditch, and somehow ended up striking a conversation with Aradia about the intricacies of the sport. She had some interesting insights to offer, and even introduced a new book that had just arrived in the store: <em>The Man Behind the Broom: The Sweeping Life of a Professional Quidditch Player</em> <em>by Victor Krum.</em> Harry could feel the blood leave his face when he saw the cover – it was Krum on a broom, flying around a Quidditch pitch. Aradia picked up a copy and presented it to Harry, on the back, Krum was smiling like the teenage heartthrob he had been. Harry cringed and made sure to never mention this to Hermione, and certainly not to Ron.</p><p>What came to working the actual case, the shop thankfully held an insurance at Gringotts, and would be eligible to file for compensation. Harry conducted a Ministry-regulated tracking charm on the place and got a lead almost instantly. He said his goodbyes to madam Horntail and told her how to contact him if she thought of anything that would help with the case, before leaving the shop to follow the magical trace.</p><p>After some turns, the charm led Harry to an area on the outskirts of London that mainly harboured various warehouses. Harry felt the trace becoming stronger towards one of the establishments, a self-storage, and walked inside. When he entered the hall he realized that the on call clerk was probably a muggle, and ended up having to Confund him to be able to continue his investigations in peace. The charm led Harry to one of the storage units, and with a mere Alohomora he managed to open its door. There, sloppily propped against the wall, were the five brooms that had been stolen from QQS. Harry shook his head. <em>Amateurs.</em></p><p>He sent a message for someone in the Ministry to come fetch the brooms and check them for dark magic before returning them to madam Horntail. In the meanwhile, he returned to the clerk, who was just recovering from the Confundus Charm. He asked for the name of the person renting the particular unit, and the still perplexed man drew out a large blue binder from the shelf behind him, handing it to Harry. He raised his wand to flip to the right page, ignoring the clerk’s flabbergasted gaze, and searched for the name of the thief. For that particular time there was no signature, so the most probable scenario was that the person had just Apparated into the warehouse in search for an empty unit to dump the brooms in before selling them onwards. Harry floated the binder back to its place, and when the Ministry official finally arrived to pick up the brooms, Harry had already neatly Obliviated the clerk.</p><p>The whole of Tuesday Harry spent going through muggle security camera footage, though it took him half a morning to figure out how the blasted apparatus worked, what did they call it? A “DVD” or something, whatever that meant. Harry didn’t find anything from these tapes, and finally gave up. He couldn’t even cast a tracking spell since there was nothing left of the thief in the scene of the crime or the warehouse.</p><p>Finally, on Wednesday, Harry was lazily leafing through the Ministry’s weekly internal newsletter and saw something. Usually the newsletter was utterly dull, so Harry was almost shocked to actually find something that could be related to his case. There, in the <em>Monitored Witches, Wizards, and Magic Folk</em> section, a name popped up, some guy named Rory Birch had previously been caught many times for selling all kinds of stolen junk. That had to be him, and even if it wasn’t, maybe he would know who else was in the business, and would be willing to get rid of some competition.</p><p>Harry sent out a feeler to the detainment office of the Ministry, who handled the personal information of people who passed through there. After a while, his memo glided back into his office with the last known address of Rory Birch. White, male, 22 years old, known address with his mother in a wizarding suburb. Harry decided to pay him a visit right away.</p><p>He Apparated into the neighbourhood the man was reported staying at. Harry strode to knock on the door of Ms. Birch, who happened to be home. After a quick chat with Rory’s mother, a pleasant lady – worried about his son’s behaviour, Harry had to use Petrificus Totalus on the git trying to climb out of his window and run away. “Sorry about that,” he said to the mother, mainly. No one wants to see their son get arrested.</p><p>Harry read him his rights, but could barely finish before the lad had already admitted to stealing the brooms. Harry didn’t even have to interrogate him, he just rolled his eyes and Apparated them both to the detainment office. After that he owled the owner of QQS to see if she wanted to raise charges or not.</p><p>On Thursday when Harry entered his office in the morning, there was a gift card for fifty galleons to Quality Quidditch Supplies waiting on Harry’s desk. Attached there was a message from Aradia Horntail saying she had been granted the insurance money already, and that she wasn’t going to press charges. Harry already knew what he was going to do with the gift card when he slipped it in his cloak pocket, happy with the gesture.</p><p>It was Friday before Harry got an update about the memory potions case. He was doing the paperwork of the QQS arrest when Evergrey appeared in his office. Harry had already told him that the Malfoy family ring Narcissa had showed him a week ago did not resemble the ring in evidence in the slightest, and even though they had agreed that it most likely ruled Narcissa out of the picture, they could not definitively close that lead. Now Harry could tell from Patrick’s face that this was not just a check-in, but that he came with news.</p><p>“Patrick, how are you?” Harry put his quill down and leaned back in his chair.</p><p>“Good, cheers. So, listen… Blackburn and Rivers did some digging about the ring, and it turns out that the M on it denotes an old criminal organization called the<em> Marigold</em>. They have been underground for almost a century, there’s not much information recorded,” Evergrey took a seat in front of Harry’s desk.</p><p>Harry almost jumped when he heard Theseus Scamander start talking from his portrait. He so rarely said anything Harry nearly forgot he was there half the time. “The <em>Marigold</em>!” Theseus called out, “I remember them, notorious at their peak, infamous for brewing fraudulent potions and selling them. Sometimes with malignant side-effects, I remember a particularly horrid case where–“</p><p>“Theseus,” Harry interrupted him loudly, at which the man seemed annoyed, but stopped talking, “are you saying, that all this time that we’ve been looking for someone brewing counterfeit memory serum and selling it, you have had this information… and never thought to share it?” Harry was getting a tad frustrated himself, they could have closed this case weeks ago if Scamander just spoke up!</p><p>“How am I supposed to know what you’re doing half the time? Besides, I told you now, I don’t see a reason for you to get all worked up about it,” Theseus said, and then snapped his mouth shut, probably for forever.</p><p>Harry huffed and shook his head before turning back to Evergrey. “Well, what do you know…” he stroke his chin in thought, “but how is Ridgenorth associated with an old criminal organization?” It seemed odd for them to resurface now to just go back to their old tricks.</p><p>“It could be possible that he is operating alone,” Patrick said and eyed Theseus’ portrait suspiciously, as if he was expecting to get interrupted again, “see, what we know is that the <em>Marigold</em> was formed by Mortimer Marigold, and that his associate at the time was one Irving Ridgenorth.”</p><p>“Grandfather of Dargan Ridgenorth, no doubt,” Harry nodded. It was hard for him to forget that he was no longer on the case, “very interesting.”</p><p>“That was what I came here to tell you, and Mr. Scamander’s statement here confirms our suspicions,” Patrick said and stood up from his chair, straightening his robes, “and another thing, Rivers got a hit on Dargan’s whereabouts, we’re moving in soon, I’ll let you know how it goes.”</p><p>Harry just nodded and was simultaneously frustrated and relieved that he couldn’t go along with them. He really wanted to be the person to catch Ridgenorth after he threw Harry out of the window, but at the same time he really didn’t want to be thrown out of a window again. Evergrey left his office and Harry thought of the case for a while, before forcing himself to return back to work. Theseus was giving him icy looks from his portrait, but didn’t say anything.</p><p>In the afternoon Harry found himself thinking about Malfoy again. He didn’t know how it happened, the git was just always in the back of his mind, lurking, waiting for the right opportunity to hijack Harry’s thoughts. Did Malfoy like Harry? Did he <em>fancy</em> him? Did Harry fancy him back, or was he just lonely? Narcissa had said that that Malfoy was lonely too. Before Harry could entertain such ideas, figure out how he felt, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a memo landing on his desk and unfolding itself.</p><p>
  <em>Did not catch DR.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Next time you ought to come with.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.E.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Easter Sunday at the Weasley’s. The Burrow was as it had always been: full of life. It was exactly how Harry remembered it, packed with people and things. There were pots and pans on the stove stirring themselves, causing the most delicious smells float from the kitchen to the rest of the house. Molly had put up candles everywhere and they created lively shadows dancing behind every object. There was not one thing twice in that house, even all of the dining room chairs were odd. The sun was setting outside, and the Burrow’s cosy warmth and hassle was a welcome contrast to the chilly day Harry had spent alone.</p><p>Wherever he looked, there was someone there. Bill and Fleur with their three kids, Molly and Arthur, George with someone Harry didn’t know, even Charlie and Percy were there. Harry had arrived at the same time as Ron, Hermione, and Rose, and they were now being greeted by everyone as they walked in the door, Harry following in their footsteps. The front door had received some fresh paint since the last time he was there, and it seemed that Arthur had installed some kind of a muggle doorbell to the outside wall. Harry couldn’t help being amused at his never-ending fascination with muggle artefacts.</p><p>Molly was the first one to reach Harry and she wrapped him in a huge embrace. “Harry dear, I’m so glad you could make it,” she said and let go of him. She smelled like cinnamon and candles, there was flour in her hair from baking, and her apron was swung around on her back so she wouldn’t smudge people’s clothes as she was hugging them.</p><p>“I wouldn’t miss it,” Harry shared a smile with her, but didn’t know how to continue. He didn’t want to reveal how much he had been looking forward to this. Fortunately, he didn’t have to, as George appeared to his mother’s side and squeezed her into a one-armed hug while talking to Harry.</p><p>“Hey Harry, how have you been? Any more hospital visits?” he inquired and gave him a mischievous smile. Harry hadn’t seen him so carefree in a decade, his hair was combed and the dark circles from under his eyes had vanished.</p><p>“Don’t say that!” Molly huffed and turned to Harry, “Oh we were all so worried when we heard what happened.” She looked disturbed by George’s comment, and again Harry felt guilty about not thinking about all the people that cared about him, while he wallowed in self-pity.</p><p>“Oh mum, he’s fine now!” George rolled his eyes at Molly, who just huffed, shaking her head and left to attend to the pots in the kitchen, but not before giving Harry another tight hug.</p><p>“I’m good thanks, George. How are you? How’s the shop? Thanks for the… er… presents, you sent me,” Harry gave him an uncomfortable smile remembering the love chocolates that were still lying somewhere in his kitchen.</p><p>“I’m good, better, the shop’s fine too, no doubt you heard about the planned addition of a brand new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade, heh,” George nodded and chuckled. To be honest, Harry was surprised that they ever got around to do it, George had been quite lost after the Battle of Hogwarts, understandably, and WWW probably reminded him of Fred a lot. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, Harry didn’t know, but surely it wasn’t easy dealing with it all. Merlin knows it hadn’t been easy for him, either.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, it’s brilliant, congratulations,” Harry said eagerly, he knew how long the plan had been in the works, and WWW was wildly popular at Diagon Alley. It’s what Fred would have wanted no doubt about that, but Harry chose to refrain from making that comment. He only envied the Hogwarts students who had the opportunity to visit the store in Hogsmeade.</p><p>“Thanks mate, but it wouldn’t have happened without a special someone… I want you to meet her,” George turned around and motioned to a woman he was talking with earlier, who had just walked into the room. “Harry, this is Isabel, she helped with the expansion of WWW, and with a lot of other things, too,” George planted a gentle kiss on her head when she joined them and Harry couldn’t not envy the way he looked at her, “Isabel, love, this is Harry… Potter.”</p><p>Isabel was a witch about George’s age, with long dark hair and a very friendly smile. She immediately gave Harry a firm handshake and said, “Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Isabel, I’ve heard lots about you. Though I must admit most of it is from the<em> Daily Prophet</em> back in the day,” she gave a cordial laugh.</p><p>“Nice to meet you too, Isabel,” Harry shook her hand and smiled back, “I’m afraid the <em>Prophet</em> might not have been very accurate at times, so I hope your opinion of me is not based entirely on Rita Skeeter opinion pieces,” he tried to chuckle nonchalantly, but it came out a little awkward.</p><p>“Oh, not at all. Don’t worry,” Isabel let out another amicable laugh, she was way better at small talk than Harry was, bollocks. He had always disliked it when people knew him from all of the things he’d done because he simply didn’t have a choice in the matter, like surviving Voldemort’s killing curse as a baby, winning the Triwizard Tournament, or killing Voldemort. All of these things more or less just happened to fall on him and then he had to deal with them in order to stay alive. And every time the<em> Daily Prophet</em> was there to write a piece about it.</p><p>George apparently sensed an awkward silence coming up, he knew how graceless Harry could get in situations where he had to come up with talking points. “Isabel used to work at Gringotts as the Head of Investments, but now she’s doing freelancer consulting work for businesses looking to expand, that’s how we met,” George declared and put his hand on her shoulder.</p><p>Harry gave George a thankful look, before realizing he didn’t know a thing about investing. “Wow, that’s… what’s it like?” Harry had to admit he was not business-minded at all, except for the one investment he made in WWW when he was fourteen. He would not be able to hold a conversation about finances or consulting.</p><p>“Well,” Isabel started and flashed a smile that conveyed the emotion one had when they’re trying to describe something as politely as they can while everyone knows there’s not much good to say, “after working at a bank, it is very… freeing to be able to choose your own commissions.”</p><p>“Right, right, I can imagine,” Harry just nodded without having a clue what else to say about the subject. Clearly Isabel was a woman of business sense, she seemed very pleasant, and seemed to make George happy, so Harry was happy for him. He didn’t feel jealous of them at all. Not in the slightest.</p><p>“So, Harry, I heard you work at the Ministry, what do you do there?” Isabel picked up the conversation quickly and Harry realized how much he hated small talk with people he had never met before and had nothing in common with. He liked Isabel, but disliked himself for being such a knob when it came to holding a conversation with her.</p><p>Just when he was about to modestly say that he worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a voice came from the living room door, “He’s the Head Auror.” All three of them peered to see Ginny walking towards them, a playful smile on her face. She was still wearing a travel robe, and her red hair swirled behind her like fire. Apparently, she had just arrived.</p><p>Isabel turned back to Harry, “Head Auror, can’t believe I didn’t know that, sorry, heh.” She looked a bit embarrassed even though Harry couldn’t figure out why.</p><p>“No worries, I probably wouldn’t know who the Head Auror was if I wasn’t him,” Harry tried to chuckle again and this time it came out a tad more natural. Isabel gave him a grateful smile, before turning to Ginny, who came over to her to kiss her on both cheeks as a greeting, they had clearly met before. Ginny and George shared a quick hug.</p><p>“So, what’s it like?” Ginny asked Harry while shuffling her travel robe off and folding it in her arms, Harry realized he was still wearing his outer cloak, “Being the Head Auror, I mean.” Harry was a bit taken aback by the question, but remembered that he and Ginny hadn’t really seen each other for a while, and he had only been at that position for a year, so it was a fair question to ask.</p><p>“It’s, er, it’s a lot of paperwork, for starters,” he replied, trying to be elusive and casual at the same time. It was a weird situation, seeing Ginny for the first time in some time and not having a moment to themselves. Fortunately, George picked up on that and gave Isabel a meaningful look before they slipped away from the conversation and towards the living room.</p><p>“Hi Harry,” Ginny said, leaning on the door frame standing a bit too far from him for it to be a regular conversation. She looked a little older, but quite well, her hair was longer. Harry could almost smell her shampoo, cedar and sage, or maybe he just imagined it.</p><p>“Hi Ginny,” Harry huffed awkwardly, if he didn’t know what to say before he sure as shit didn’t know what to say now.</p><p>After a silence that wasn’t really a silence combined with all of the noise going on inside the house, Ginny finally said, “Would it be weird if I hugged you? I haven’t seen you in ages, I just…” suddenly Ginny seemed a lot more like herself from when she and Harry had first started dating. Very forward yet a bit shy.</p><p>“’Course not, how have you been Ginny?” Harry smiled sheepishly and they shared a hug that was stiff but nice. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he hadn’t fully grasped how nervous he had been to see his ex-girlfriend again. Now that she was here though, Harry realized how much he had actually missed her. Not in the romantic sense, just, she knew him pretty much better than anyone, after all. He knew that she was probably the only person besides Ron that he could share anything with.</p><p>“I’m good, you probably know I’m playing for the Magpies these days,” she said and smiled, looking at Harry in the eyes. Harry remembered how hard she had practiced when they were together, and she was good, really good.</p><p>“Yeah I heard, the Magpies are about to have one hell of a season,” Harry nodded earnestly, this was more his territory, conversation-wise. The Montrose Magpies were already one of the best Quidditch teams in Britain, they certainly couldn’t have chosen a more skilled seeker.</p><p>“Well thanks, it’s been pretty great, if we’re lucky we might make it to the Quidditch World Cup in a couple of years,” she uttered very humbly, but Harry could see the excitement in her eyes. Playing in the World Cup had been one of Ginny’s dreams for at least a decade, if not longer.</p><p>“That’s great Ginny!” Harry nodded, “You know we’re all going to be there to see you play,” surely if the Magpies made it to the World Cup the whole extended family of the Weasley’s would be there to cheer Ginny on, doubt she’d get that many complimentary tickets to give out, though, “How’s Scotland?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, it’s far from home, but refreshing,” Ginny gave an affirmative nod, Harry guessed that she, like Ron, was both glad to have her independence but also missed home every once in a while. Before Harry could respond, Molly appeared from the kitchen to wrap Ginny in one of her tight hugs.</p><p>“Oh, honey I thought I heard your voice!” Molly spun Ginny around before letting her back on the ground, “Here, let me take that love,” she took Ginny’s cloak from her hands to put away, “oh and when you two are done chatting could you help me set the table dear,” Molly directed her question at Ginny, who nodded quickly. She had turned a shade of red from her mother’s eager welcome.</p><p>“Well, I best go, talk to you later?” Ginny said.</p><p>“Yeah,” was the only thing Harry replied before the woman disappeared into the kitchen in her mother’s footsteps. That could have gone worse, though Harry couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t brought up her new boyfriend, granted it might have been a little weird, and Harry sure as shit wasn’t going to do that.</p><p>Now he finally had the chance to take off his cloak and hang it on the stand that was full of robes as it was. He had already broken some sweat having to stand there talking to everyone still wearing his outer cloak. Now Harry made his way over to Ron to say hi properly, they had just agreed to meet outside of the Burrow at seven sharp, but hadn’t really exchanged greetings further.</p><p>“Hey mate, how’s it going?” Ron turned to Harry and gave him a slap on the back, almost a little too hard, for Harry had to cover up his surprise by fake coughing.</p><p>“Good, good, you?” he asked in return. Rosie was already running around with Bill and Fleur’s kids, chasing each other around the dinner table and to the kitchen and back. Harry thought it was crazy how it felt like yesterday that he’d been at their wedding in this very place, even though it was nearly eleven years ago already. Now they had three kids. What was almost more unbelievable was that Hermione was now talking with Fleur. Despite getting off on the wrong foot with almost everyone in the family, Fleur had somehow eased her way into their hearts, little by little. This was after Hermione had described her as “full of herself” and Ginny had just straight up called her a cow. Funny how times had changed.</p><p>“Fine, yeah, a bit nervous to be honest…” Ron pulled Harry out of his nostalgic trip down memory lane, ”we’re telling everyone tonight that Hermione’s pregnant again, thought it would be a good opportunity since everyone’s here,” Ron seemed agitated, he scratched his ear and was constantly touching his hair, even though it was completely fine.</p><p>“Right… er, but everyone’s going to be happy, yeah? So what’s the problem?” Harry couldn’t see the connection. Everyone would surely be thrilled for them, just like they were the last time. Harry was in fact a little annoyed at how selfish Ron was being, he himself was dying to have such news to share. To be able to announce that he was going to be a dad, and in Ron’s case, a second time already.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Not that it didn’t help when we last talked, but I’m still scared shitless by the whole thing,” Ron’s anguished face made Harry feel bad for him now, but there was very little he could do. He had already said everything he could. He knew everything was going to be alright in the end, but that would unlikely ease Ron’s distress right now.</p><p>“You’ll be fine, you have like, seven months to prepare still,” Harry just shrugged and offered the thin comfort he had left. Seven months was plenty of time to get one’s shit together, and Harry wasn’t going to bring it out, but in seven months Hermione was going to be the one going to be dealing with much more acute problems than worrying about what kind of a parent she was going to be.</p><p>Right now, Ron just sighed very deeply and leaned against the doorway, “Yeah, I suppose…” he was staring into the mid distance, perhaps at Hermione. Before he was going to start at the subject again, Harry decided to intervene with the actual thing he wanted to talk to Ron about.</p><p>“So, listen, I had a case this week, nothing major, it was for Quality Quidditch Supplies,” he started and Ron turned to him now with intrigue in his eyes. Harry had almost forgotten how much his friend loved to hear about Auror work, he didn’t even have to say anything. “Like I said, nothing major, but when I managed to solve it, the owner was so glad that she sent me this,” Harry fished the gift card out of his pocket, “problem is, I’m not flying anymore, so I thought that you could maybe use this on Rosie, if she really picks up flying, you know…”</p><p>Harry pushed the piece of parchment in an unsuspecting Ron’s hand before anyone could see. Ron opened it quickly and his eyes went big when he saw the sum it was for, “Bloody hell Harry, you’re daft if you think I’m gonna take this, no way,” he tried to shove it back to Harry, who refused to take it.</p><p>“Well, it’s not really for you, is it?” Harry knew Ron was going to refuse, but he also knew that deep down he wanted to keep the voucher, so Harry had come up with a whole line of reasoning to come to an agreement with Ron, “It’s for Rosie, from me, through you… so technically, you <em>can</em> take it.”</p><p>Ron’s face scrunched up in thought, he was clearly also looking for reasons to accept Harry’s offering, the way he was scratching his chin. After a minute, Ron had come to a decision, “Hmm, well I guess you’re right,” he gave Harry a firm look while swiftly slipping the parchment in his pocket, “but not a word to Hermione.”</p><p>Harry gave Ron a mischievous grin, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” That was the last time they ever discussed the matter.</p><p>The actual dinner went by quickly. Molly went all out on the catering, and had prepared all sorts of delicious dishes that made Harry reminisce the Hogwarts feasts at the beginning of each year. There was no way Harry could even try everything without exploding. He counted four sorts of potatoes! While trying to pace himself with sampling as many foods as he could, Fleur was politely asking Harry how he was. She was still working at Gringotts and had managed to move up the corporate ladder to a position she was comfortable at. Harry was asking about her and Bill’s kids, which Fleur clearly loved to talk about. It was still a couple of years before their eldest would start at Hogwarts, and she was delighted at the thought that Rose would probably start at the same time as their youngest. “Iz good to ‘ave friends,” she said, her accent as strong as ever.</p><p>When Harry actually thought he was going to explode, he had to put down his cutlery, and simultaneously Arthur struck up a conversation with Harry. Initially they talked about the current events at the Ministry, and Kingsley’s attempts at getting re-elected as the Minister; apparently permission slips for any major decisions had been implemented in Arthur’s department as well, although he was in the process of retiring soon. He also revealed that he had encountered ‘the most fascinating muggle object’ recently, and revealed it to be one of those plastic covers for bananas that protect your fruit from bruising. Harry didn’t really know how to comment on that.</p><p>They talked for a while more, before it was time for dessert. Just when Harry thought he couldn’t fight down any more food, at least six different dishes appeared on the table. Not least was treacle tart, pumpkin pie, and ice cream, along with coffee and varieties of tea. To his, and his stomach’s, relief, Hermione clinked her glass with a dessert spoon and stood up, her expression bashful.</p><p>“First off I just want to say a big thank you to Molly for the incredible feast she has put in front of us tonight, truly I don’t think I will be able to eat for a week after this.” A light chuckle went around the table, encouraging her to continue, “There is something me and Ron want to share with you all,” she grabbed Ron’s hand, who had gone a little green but was still beaming up at his wife. “Next autumn, our Rosie is going to be introduced to a new baby brother.”</p><p>Immediately they were met with a bunch of <em>Congratulations!</em> and Hermione received hugs from everyone sitting anywhere near her. Harry saw Ron’s face light up in a confused smile, and barely heard him say ‘You didn’t tell me we’re having a boy!’ and Hermione kissing him, accompanied with a whistle from George, and saying ‘I wanted it to be a surprise’<em>.</em> Harry smiled at them and felt the warmest wave of excitement thinking about how happy they were going to be. He only started feeling sorry for himself when he caught a glance from Ginny across the table, but that might have been coincidental.</p><p>After dinner Harry had flopped down to slouch in an armchair, lazily sipping on some sugary tea, trying to deal with the food coma he was about to slip into. Hermione was sitting in the other armchair propped up next to his, but neither of them had the strength to speak more than a few words at a time.</p><p>“I’m glad these dinners are only a few times a year… let me tell you… this baby would come out plump as an Erumpent,” Hermione was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, legs stretched out.</p><p>“I’d laugh but I’m too full… I’d probably vomit,” Harry groaned, putting his teacup down at the small side table between them.</p><p>“Ugh, don’t talk about vomit please,” Hermione grumbled and sat up straighter in the chair. Her face changed from agony to a pained smile as she saw someone approaching from Harry’s right side, but he was not able to turn his head to see. Every movement felt too laborious at the moment.</p><p>“Are you guys about to pass out too?” Ginny sat on the arm of Hermione’s chair and made an anguished sound. Her hair was flowing around her shoulders and contrasted the green shirt she was wearing. Both Harry and Hermione nodded, too exhausted to reply.</p><p>“Congratulations again on the baby, Hermione,” Ginny said and turned to look at her, “to tell you the truth, I’m a bit jealous that you have a helper in there to digest all of this food right now.”</p><p>“Thanks, Ginny. I don’t think he’s doing a lot right now, though,” Hermione gave out a long sigh and wiped her forehead as if she’d worked up a sweat.</p><p>“Right, actually I came to chat to Harry if that’s okay,” Ginny said, and Harry’s pulse sped up a bit. He got an ominous feeling about the situation, although it was most likely unfounded. He really wanted to talk with Ginny, somehow he felt like he needed it. However, the situation could go either way.</p><p>“Oh, sure,” Hermione pushed herself out of the chair and started wobbling towards where Ron was lying on the sofa. Ginny slid into the chair facing Harry and was quiet for a bit.</p><p>“So, how is it playing in one of the best Quidditch teams in Britain?” Harry started, when he couldn’t think of another discussion point. Also, he was truly curious to know, since he had been following the Magpies for some time.</p><p>“Oh, you know, a lot of practicing,” Ginny shrugged, “I do love it, playing with the best…” she was staring past Harry with a drowsy expression, exactly how Harry was feeling, too.</p><p>“I can imagine,” Harry nodded, “I have to confess I haven’t flown in a good while.” He didn’t even own a broom currently, and he had just given up his gift card to QQS, not that he couldn’t afford one himself.</p><p>“Really? I find that hard to believe – you love flying, so much so that I thought you would’ve wanted to play Quidditch professionally after school.” Truthfully, Harry had thought about it, but compared to everything that was going on in the world at the time, Harry couldn’t have forgiven himself if he didn’t at least try to right some wrongs in the Ministry back then. He had thought that becoming an Auror was more important to him than flying, it still was.</p><p>“Maybe I’ve just been busy with work,” Harry hated the excuse and didn’t have the motivation to even try and sound convincing in his delivery.</p><p>“Well it’s not too late, if you want to,” Ginny said and pulled her legs crossed into the chair, “I know some people.”</p><p>“Thanks, but I think I’m okay for now, I think I’ll only become a Quidditch legend in my sixties,” Harry was able to conjure up a snort despite of his current state of agony.</p><p>Ginny also laughed at the comment, although it was muffled by a groan, “A Quidditch legend… famous like Krum nowadays.”</p><p>“I’m already famous like me, unfortunately,” Harry sighed and gave Ginny an exasperated look. The amount of fan letters Harry had received after the Battle of Hogwarts was of the stuff of nightmares. They had been everywhere, and every day he had received more. He hadn’t been able to go anywhere without someone recognizing him and suddenly everyone wanting an autograph from ‘The Saviour’. He had turned down several interviews with the<em> Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly,</em> and countless other papers, and only when he had entered Auror training did people seem to lose their interest.</p><p>“I guess you’re right…” Ginny’s face turned reflective, “speaking of Krum, you haven’t, er, seen his latest achievement, have you?”</p><p>It took Harry a second to process what achievement Ginny might be referring to, before he remembered the autobiography Aradia Horntail had displayed him, “Merlin, are you talking about that book?” he grimaced and made Ginny snicker.</p><p>“I know right? <em>The Man Behind the Broom: The Sweeping Life of a Professional Quidditch Player</em>?? It’s horrid!” Ginny could barely speak from giggling, and that also made Harry chuckle. She was right, it was quite horrible. Harry had missed laughing at things with her.</p><p>“Exactly my thoughts!” he declared once his laugh calmed down a bit, and had to try to be serious for his next comment, “Ron and Hermione can never know, though.” As soon as he said it, another burst of laughter took over both of them.</p><p>Ginny was still giggling and shaking her head frantically, “Absolutely not, could you imagine?” Indeed Harry could, which was exactly the reason he didn’t want to let them know, ever. The way Ron had been jealous of Krum as soon as he realized he was interested in Hermione, Harry definitely didn’t want to revive those feelings. Plus, Hermione might be mentioned in the book, which was all the more reason to never bring it to their knowledge. They laughed some more, and when they calmed down, Harry decided to let the cat out of the bag.</p><p>“So, I heard you have a new boyfriend,” he stated quite directly, and hoped that Ginny didn’t take it as an interrogation from a jealous ex, because Harry truly wasn’t trying to win her back.</p><p>Ginny just nodded amicably, “Yes, that’s true, I didn’t want to bring it up in case you felt uncomfortable about it.” Harry did appreciate the thought, but didn’t think that Ginny herself would be one of the people too modest to talk about their breakup.</p><p>“Oh nonsense,” Harry frowned and shook his head, “I’m tired of everyone always tiptoeing around it.” He truly, truly was. Him and Ginny were friends, even now.</p><p>“Oh I know how you feel,” Ginny now rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Harry had forgotten how similar they were.</p><p>Harry was feeling a bit nostalgic, and couldn’t help himself from saying, “You know I just want you to be happy, even with how things ended between us, or because of it.”</p><p>Now Ginny turned her gaze to Harry, and gave him the gentlest smile, “I know, I want you to be happy too.”</p><p>Harry could feel himself blushing slightly, although that could have been the wine, and the fact that it was quite warm in the house, “Thanks, er… so what’s he like then?”</p><p>Ginny shrugged and moved back to staring into the mid-distance, “He’s nice… smart, funny, you’d like him I think.”</p><p>“Good, good,” Harry replied, nodding. He didn’t know how to continue, even with how things were, he probably didn’t want to learn more about this new boyfriend. Thankfully, Ginny seemed to have picked up on that, but then followed it up with a much worse question.</p><p>“So, what about you?” she stretched out her legs and sat deeper in the chair.</p><p>Harry eyed Ginny suspiciously, “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Oh, come on, you know what I mean! George mentioned he gave you some chocolates with love potion in them, how vulgar,” she chuckled and shook her head, causing her hair to bounce with the movement.</p><p>“Oh, I’ll never use them,” Harry huffed and crossed his arms to show how much he resented love potions, though he had to straighten his arms back immediately when he realized that it was impossible to hold them on his stomach without exploding.</p><p>“You’ll just have to lure someone in with your natural charisma, then,” Ginny winked, although she made a good point about how utterly horrific Harry was at trying to chat someone up. He was pretty sure he’d never even tried that before, just look at how bad he was at trying to perform small talk with Isabel and George earlier.</p><p>“You’re right, I’m fucked,” Harry groaned.</p><p>“No don’t say that,” Ginny waved Harry’s comment away with her hand “you got me, right? And even if that door is definitely closed, you’re still a lovely person.” It was true that he had gotten Ginny, how had that happened again? They had talked a few times after which Harry had been obsessed with Ginny for ages, before she decided to grace Harry with her affections. She even made the first move by kissing him! For fuck’s sakes.</p><p>“Well… thanks, heh,” was the only thing Harry could say while still being fully convinced that he was utterly fucked with ever convincing anyone to date him. He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly.</p><p>“So… is there someone?” Ginny tried egging him on. She sat forward and propped her elbows against her knees and put her face in her hands.</p><p>Harry sighed and stayed quiet for a while. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was sharing intimate details of his life with his ex-girlfriend. Then again, nobody knew him better than Ginny, so he decided to carefully go for it, “I’m not sure,” he admitted. What was Malfoy? ‘Potential interest’ was perhaps too strong of a description.</p><p>“Harry, you just have to go for it,” Ginny rolled her eyes again, she if anyone knew how Harry literally never ‘went for it’ when it came to romantic relationships, “Merlin knows you can’t wait forever.” She was right, eventually Malfoy would return to Italy, and Harry would be left by himself again. But Harry felt crazy even thinking that <em>Malfoy</em> could be a romantic interest in his life!</p><p>“But what if I make the wrong choice?” he had to ask, “What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them as much as I think I might?” In his ears he sounded pathetic, but Ginny didn’t seem to think so.</p><p>“What if you don’t do anything and are left in regret for the rest of your life? What have you got to lose? Harry, the world is full of wrong turns, you just have to take them to find out, it’s better than staying still.” When had Ginny become so smart? Ron was definitely confiding in the wrong person telling Harry how stressed out about the baby he was, Ginny was clearly the perfect person to give out advice.</p><p>“You’re right,” Harry nodded slowly, trying to process what his next move should be based on this information, “thanks.” He couldn’t help thinking, <em>Please don’t be Malfoy, please don’t be Malfoy.</em> Please let his heart choose someone else.</p><p>That night Harry was sent off with a ton of leftovers and new ideas about how to deal with things in his life. Now he just needed courage to implement them. When Harry Apparated onto his street, he was a little disappointed to not see anyone waiting for him on his doorstep this time. Except now he didn’t attempt to repress that feeling, but tried to accept it for what it was.</p><p>When he was lying in bed a while later, he had two things in his mind. After tonight, he more than ever knew that he wanted kids of his own. Never knowing his parents made him want to be a present dad for his own kids, if he was ever so lucky as to have them. He knew that he was still young, at least young enough to not be in any sort of hurry about the matter, but watching his friends have and raise their children made him feel like he was so much behind. Harry had already achieved what he wanted career-wise, and now he had more than enough time to think about the things that he didn’t have. Which brought him to the next topic: Malfoy.</p><p>Talking to Ginny made Harry admit to himself that he was lonely. He was happy when he was with his friends, but every time he returned home he was faced with the bleak feeling that the only thing waiting for him was an empty house with a cold bed. Harry envied people who weren’t bothered being by themselves, and while he couldn’t claim that he was the most social person, he craved to be with someone. The problem that he had, the problem that he’d had for the last four years, was that there was simply no one out there who could understand what he’d been through. Who had seen some of the same horrors.</p><p>But now, there was Malfoy. His arch nemesis from school with an insufferable manner but with a tendency to show up wherever Harry was. Narcissa had said that Malfoy was lonely, and Harry could relate to that; seemed like they had similar reasons for it as well. He wondered if Malfoy wanted kids. If he would ever consider moving back to England.</p><p>For a minute Harry decided to put aside the fact that he was thinking about Draco Malfoy, and just concentrate on the facts: they had known each other for a long time, they had both been through some horrible things in their lives, they were both lonely, they were both into men, and most importantly, Harry’s heart started hammering every time he thought about the bastard. When he was at work, he was constantly listening for a sharp knock on his door, and when he returned home, he always expected Malfoy to be there, waiting for him just like he did the other night. However, Harry had to return the first variable into the equation, he sighed. Draco sodding Malfoy.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Mr Mulpepper's</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry was holding the Triwizard Cup, which was glowing gently in his hand. He was standing at a graveyard, but there was thick fog everywhere, hindering Harry from seeing anything clearly. He was filled with a sense of urgency and panic, there was something he had to do, and it was important. There were shadows moving just beyond Harry’s line of vision, and he couldn’t make out what they were, he tried to yell but when he opened his mouth there was no sound. Harry looked down and saw that his pant legs were wet in shallow water, the graveyard had disappeared, and he was now standing in the Black Lake. The Triwizard Cup in his hand had turned into a ring with an M on it, but Harry couldn’t make out if it was the Malfoy or the Marigold family ring. He had trouble keeping his eyes open, as if there was a bright light shining from somewhere, and all around him he sensed that something was going on – he sensed people nearby, talking loudly, but Harry couldn’t make out what they were saying, as if they were speaking gibberish. Suddenly he heard the words again, <em>Kill the spare!</em> and a green light flashed all around him. There was a splash, and when Harry looked down, it wasn’t Cedric lying dead at Harry’s feet, it was Malfoy.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry yawned so big it hurt his jaw. Over the weekend Kingsley had implemented small scale permission slips in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which in practice meant that not only did Harry have to file for permission for everything from Kingsley, but now the people working in his department also had to file permits for Harry to approve. This caused dozens of memos to now find themselves on his desk, all hours of the day. It didn’t help that Harry had slept poorly the previous night; every time he thought the nightmares had stopped, he woke up in cold sweat from one horrid dream or another.</p><p>Just when Harry thought he’d go mad from seeing one more parchment asking for permission to release someone from custody, a memo floated onto his desk and unfolded itself. It was a permission slip from Evergrey to arrest Dargan Ridgenorth, and it already featured Kingsley’s signature. Before Harry could wonder what it meant, Patrick opened the door to Harry’s office with a bang, already wearing his Ministry cloak. “So? Are you coming or what?”</p><p>Harry jumped up from his chair and went around his desk in such a rush that he hit his thigh on the corner of the table. “Ah, bollocks!” Harry swore and tried to shake off the aching feeling. He half-limped to his coat stand and flung his work cloak over his robes, following Patrick out in what was an awkward limping half-jog to reach him.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Harry asked, now striding just behind Patrick. He thought that they would have simply Apparated to wherever they needed to be. He was excited to go catch that son of a bitch Ridgenorth, he had been on the loose for too long.</p><p>“Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary,” Patrick answered. <em>Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, </em>that store had been in the Mulpepper family for nearly a millennium, Harry wasn’t aware that it was even operational anymore, although it was unlikely that the Ministry would have shut it down. After all, the shop merely sold ingredients to potions that themselves could be completely innocent, but nevertheless it was probably on the watch-list of the Ministry. “The shopkeeper owled the ministry today to report that a man he didn’t know had reserved an ingredient from him, a rare ingredient used in memory potions specifically, he thinks that it might be Ridgenorth. The man is coming to pick it up at 2pm.”</p><p>“Alright, sounds like a solid lead,” Harry replied after taking in the information he had just received, he was agitated to finally put Dargan behind bars, “but why aren’t we just Apparating to Knockturn Alley?” Harry asked.</p><p>“Apparition would cause too much of a ruckus, so we’re Flooing to their basement,” Patrick explained.</p><p>Harry just nodded, and while they were heading towards the Atrium, more Aurors joined their way. The lot turned some heads striding through the lobby of the Ministry in their Auror robes. Eventually there were about ten of them standing in front of the outgoing fireplaces. Harry saw Blackburn, Rivers, McGallon, Buckthorn, Twigs, Crooker, and a few others. They were all wearing their Ministry cloaks, expressions tense, and eyes vigilant. They were the best of the best, everyone proven themselves time and again – if they wouldn’t catch this bastard today, Harry would eat the memo granting this mission.</p><p>One at a time, they all vanished into the fireplace, Harry being the last one to step into the flames. On the other side, he joined the crowd tightly huddled in the small basement of the apothecary. The space was dim and smelled damp, there were boxes everywhere stacked against the walls, and the only dirty lightbulb illuminating the room was flickering. Needless to say, they all wanted to get out of there, fast.</p><p>“All right, people, here’s what’s going to happen,” Evergrey stepped a few notches upwards on the staircase so that he could be seen by everyone, even Harry at the very back, “we’re going to spread out, Buckthorn, Twigs, you go to the first floor, Rivers, Griffiths, go outside to observe and block any attempts at escaping through the front door, Crooker, McGallon, you hide behind the counter, Blackburn, Jenkins, you stay here. Me and Harry are going to be in the back room.”</p><p>Harry had to admire how well Patrick was giving out orders, he was a natural. There were enough people to arrest Voldemort himself, and there was nowhere for Ridgenorth to run. Evergrey would make a fine Head Auror someday. “If you see a fireplace, seal it, there cannot be anywhere for this bastard to run, I will make sure he will not be able to Disapparate,” Patrick had gone serious as he gave a look around the room, “and make sure to be careful, we don’t know what this man is capable of. Let’s move.”</p><p>The speech was followed by everyone quickly hurrying up the stairs to their assigned places. Harry saw Rivers and another Auror who Patrick had called Griffiths quickly transfigure their Ministry cloaks into regular ones and step out of the store onto the dark street. Patrick cast the Anti-Disapparition Jinx as he and Harry shuffled into the back room of the store, nodding at the owner behind the counter who looked a bit nauseous.</p><p>Once they got settled to a good hiding place behind some boxes in the back room, Harry glanced at the clock on the wall that was ticking loudly, fifteen minutes until Dargan was supposed to arrive. Harry decided to take this time with Patrick to tell him how well he thought he was leading the case. “I have to say Patrick, the way you’re handling this arrest, and the whole case… I think you’re doing a really good job of it,” Harry said in a low voice, constantly gripping his wand.</p><p>Patrick half snorted, half sighed. “Thanks mate, but I dunno… I like being in charge, but it was a hell of a battle getting everyone released from their current cases to do this arrest with me,” Patrick huffed. Harry could imagine the paperwork, the pleading, it’s not that the heads of other cases wouldn’t want to help, but sometimes they were just swamped, and there was nothing to be done about it. It was a feat in itself that Patrick had managed to get so many good Aurors together.</p><p>“Well, the good thing about being the boss is that you can pretty much just tell everyone what to do, sometimes it’s not nice but, other times it comes in very handy,” Harry shrugged, he was whispering. Being the head of a department was a lot of paperwork, but it was also a lot of power, power that Harry sometimes failed to utilize.</p><p>Patrick just snorted, he was also holding his wand at the ready. “Don’t tempt me, Potter. I am just as fine working under a brilliant wizard like you.” The kinds words were surprising and, in Harry’s opinion, completely undeserved. He didn’t know what to say for a while, the seconds ticked away in the clock.</p><p>“Well, cheers, but I’m no better than the rest of this crew here today, I just got lucky,” Harry shrugged, “besides, though I like this job, I don’t think I’m going to be doing it forever, someone’s going to have to take over after I’m gone.” Harry gave a sly look at Patrick, who just responded with an amused roll of his eyes. Harry didn’t have to say anything more for Patrick to know what he meant. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, because they both tensed up as they heard the bell ring at the front door.</p><p>“He’s early,” Patrick whispered, and both of them peered from behind the boxes at the beam of light shining through the cracked door, and creating shadows on the walls of the dark back room.</p><p>Both Harry and Patrick raised their wands at the doorway. A muffled voice in the other room could be heard, but they couldn’t make out what it said. “Fuck, what’s he saying?” Patrick hissed, and started to inch towards the door. Harry grabbed his arm, indicating him to stop, because he had just found something in his pocket that would help them. He pulled out the Extendable Ears, and silently opened the package. He then pulled out his wand, and managed to levitate the first ear close to the crack in the door. He held up the other ear close for him and Patrick to hear.</p><p>There were slow steps on the creaking wooden floor, and a shadow appeared in the doorway. <em>Do you have what I ordered?</em> Ridgenorth’s voice was smooth, not at all what Harry had imagined. He was holding his breath, and Patrick raised his hand at Harry as a sign to not do anything. For a moment, it was completely quiet, and it was hard to believe that ten people were currently in the establishment.</p><p>Then there was Mr Mulpepper's voice, he cleared his throat, <em>Yes, er, I have you know… it was not easy to find.</em> Harry could only breathe when Dargan’s shadow disappeared from the doorway as he moved towards the counter, behind which Crooker and McGallon were hunching. <em>But you did, it is true what they say, you are the best in business.</em> Dargan was being very honeyed in his talk, and that made Harry nervous; it was easier to deal with criminals who were transparent in their intentions. <em>I’ll get your order from the back,</em> the owner said, and his footsteps could be heard nearing the doorway. Once in the room, he stepped towards Patrick and Harry who had come out from behind the boxes. They motioned him to come hide in their place, and simultaneously started inching towards the doorway. They would have to act in seconds.</p><p>For Harry, the next few minutes happened in slow motion: first, Patrick jumped to the doorway and cast Incarcerous, but apparently missed, since he immediately got blasted to the back wall of the room. Next, Harry ran to the front room and cast Expelliarmus on the short man. He was wearing a black cloak and a purple silk scarf around his neck, and his silver hair was flowing from the power of the spells suddenly filling the room. Every Auror in the place flooded the small store and Harry thought that there was no way that the man could escape now. That was, until he cast a strong Confundus on the room, that only Harry managed to block since he was expecting Dargan to hit him with something.</p><p>When Harry realized that he was on his own, he jumped behind the counter to gather the last bits of his courage to duel Dargan, and this time, not lose. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, to focus his mind, to heighten his senses. “The famous Harry Potter,” Dargan declared in a melodic voice, approaching the counter, “Head Auror, no less, defeated Voldemort himself… only to be defeated by<em> me</em>, how delightful.”</p><p>Harry didn’t have time for small talk, he was terrible at it anyway, but what he was not terrible at, was duelling. He grabbed the closest jar in his reach and hurled it backwards over the counter at Dargan to distract him, while standing up and casting a very powerful Stupefy. The man managed to conjure a Protego, but it wasn’t strong enough to shield him from the strength of Harry’s spell, and he stumbled a few steps backwards. Harry saw the opportunity and cast Expelliarmus and Petrificus Totalus, which Dargan swerved, but only nearly. He responded with Reducto and a stinging jinx that hit Harry in the shoulder. Harry fell backwards against the cabinet and very closely ducked a Confringo blasting the cupboard to pieces falling on him. He got hit by another stinging jinx right on his chest and yelped. Right when Harry thought that his opponent was going to deliver the finishing punch, an Expelliarmus sent Dargan’s wand flying across the room.</p><p>Harry turned to the doorway where he saw Patrick leaning on the wall, his wand raised. Harry immediately jumped up from the rubble as fast as he could, trying to cast Incarcerous, but while he did, he saw a tiny vial falling from Dargan’s hand and onto the floor. It was empty. Dargan had a befuddled look on his face, while lying on the floor in chains. Harry quickly picked up the wand and pocketed it, before stumbling towards Patrick. The man looked quite terrible, exactly like someone blasted across the room. There was blood on his forehead and in his hair, dust everywhere on his face and his clothes, and his leg was probably broken, along with his arm.</p><p>The other Aurors started to wake up from their Confunded state now that Dargan was out of play, eyeing at the chaos that was the store. The room looked rough, dozens of spell marks across the walls and a few places that were completely blown up. Harry hoped Mr Mulpepper had insurance. Now he turned to Ridgenorth, who was lying on the floor, an empty look in his eyes. He wasn’t speaking, he was kind of just… lying there, not struggling. While Rivers and Buckthorn came over to pick him up, Harry grabbed the empty vial at his feet and held it up to Patrick, who just said “Memory potion.”</p><p>“His own brew, no doubt,” Harry lifted his eyebrows and turned the tiny bottle to the light, the leftover liquid was thick and pale pink. “Right, Rivers and Buckthorn, take two more people with you to transport Mr Ridgenorth here into one of the more… secure, custody cells. Though I doubt that he will be much of a threat after gulping down this thing,” Harry handed the vial to Crooker, “take this to the Department of Mysteries and see if they can match it up with the recipe, maybe they can develop a potion to counter the effects, and we can finally conduct some interrogations.” Crooker nodded and pocketed the vial Harry gave to her.</p><p>“Twigs, help me get Patrick into the Emergency Department of St Mungo’s,” Harry said and went over to Evergrey. He swung the man’s arm over his shoulder and Twigs mirrored the motion. Harry undid the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, and in the next moment they were off to a swirl.</p><p>***</p><p>On Friday Harry was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of his office fireplace, leafing through the arrest report he was just about to file, when there was a knock on his door. For a second, Harry’s pulse sped up, even though he already knew it wasn’t going to be Malfoy, his knock was more demanding. He turned out to be right, when Evergrey appeared in the doorway.</p><p>“Can I come in?” he asked, already entering the room. There was no sign of battle in his appearance, his hair was the same and there wasn’t even a scar to be seen. The St Mungo’s Healers were no strangers to battle wounds by now. Harry and Twigs had Apparated Evergrey into the hospital from the apothecary, where the Healers had immediately wheeled him off out of their sight. Harry had sent Twigs home, but had stayed in the hospital to wait for a word from Patrick. He had sent a Floo message to Patrick’s wife Kathy, to let her know that even though something had happened, it wasn’t anything serious, and that she shouldn’t worry. Naturally, she appeared not fifteen minutes later and almost cursed Harry’s fingers off for letting her husband get hurt.</p><p>Harry had managed to calm her down and tell her how heroic Patrick had been, and that he only had a few broken bones, nothing serious. She and Harry sat in silence for a long while, watching people come and go, before a Healer appeared to let them know that they could see Patrick now. At that point, Harry had excused himself, not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment, and Kathy had thanked him for bringing her husband to the hospital.</p><p>Now Harry all but jumped up from his chair. “Patrick!” he yelped, but didn’t know what to do next, hugging would be a bit awkward, but a handshake would be too official. Harry just ended up nodding at the man. “By all means, come in, take a seat. How are you?”</p><p>Patrick nodded back at him and walked over to the other armchair and they both sat down. He was not wearing his work robes, and Harry assumed that he was on sick leave still, although he looked perfectly fine. Despite everything that had happened, Kingsley had still not let Harry back on the case, not that there would’ve been much to do currently anyway. ‘The conflict of interest is still there, Harry, just focus on filing the arrest report’, Kingsley had said, not even looking up from his paperwork.</p><p>“I’m good, thanks. They patched me up real good, didn’t even have to stay the night,” Patrick nodded and smiled bravely, “Kathy got a real scare, but she’s okay now that she’s been home looking after me, heh.” Harry felt bad for Patrick’s wife, she had to put up with a lot as it was with his job. In that sense Harry was fortunate, no one was losing sleep over his wellbeing, no one.</p><p>“That’s good to hear mate, give Kathy my best,” Harry replied.</p><p>“Will do,” Patrick nodded, “so, I have to admit my memory is a bit fuzzy about the events of the other day, mind filling me in?”</p><p>“Oh yeah, sure, so… first of all, we did get Ridgenorth, but he managed to take a gulp of his own medicine, so to speak, er… so now he can’t tell his hat from a Flobberworm. The Department of Mysteries is trying to brew a potion to counter the effects so that we can interrogate him, but they say it might take weeks,” Harry tried to describe everything as concisely as he could, Patrick was just nodding slowly, frowning at the empty fireplace.</p><p>“On another note, Mr Mulpepper did not have insurance on his shop, and filed for compensation of lost merchandise. I had to have a long chat with Kingsley to calm him down, you know how he is these days,” Harry grimaced, and Patrick settled for rolling his eyes. They didn’t have to say it, but they both thought that catching a dangerous criminal was far more important than a few galleons off the Ministry’s budget.</p><p>“So…” Patrick leaned back in the chair, “what does this mean for the case? We’re still prosecuting Dubois and Ridgenorth, obviously, along with all of the other distributors and sellers the others managed to catch, but what about other suspects that are not directly tied to the case… like Narcissa Malfoy?”</p><p>Harry’s pulse quickened again, his heart had an unpleasant habit of doing that nowadays whenever he heard the Malfoy name being mentioned. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice, which made him receive a weird look from Patrick, “Well… I think it’s safe to say that Narcissa, er, Malfoy was only at the wrong place at the wrong time, in my opinion we can rule her out as a suspect.”</p><p>Patrick was nodding, “Agreed, but we still need her as a witness, in case we ever get to trial with the case.”</p><p>“Yes, you’re right. I should probably let her know…” Harry felt uneasy, and it was almost impossible for him to sit still in the chair, he wanted to jump up and Apparate straight into Malfoy’s house. But at the same time, he felt nervous to death at the thought. Be that as it may, he felt was too anxious to be having a normal conversation about work.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I can do it, I’m the head of this case after all,” Patrick batted Harry’s comment away, sitting in the armchair, relaxed. He truly was very oblivious to Harry’s internal agony.</p><p>Harry couldn’t stay put anymore, he stood up a little bit too quickly to be natural, “No no, you rest, I’ll do it.” The gesture earned a very suspicious look from Evergrey, who also stood up, slower, and walked to the other side of the chair, laying his hand on the back of it.</p><p>“Harry, are <em>you</em> okay? You’ve been acting odd lately…” his voice was very gentle, like someone about to start an intervention with <em>We’re all worried about you.</em></p><p>Shit, was Harry caught? Guilty of having troubles in the matters of the heart. Harry was sure he turned a shade of red, “Uhm, yes, sorry about that, I’ve just been a little stressed about the whole case, especially because I wasn’t on it half the time. I just want to see it finished as soon as possible.”</p><p>Based on the expression on Patrick’s face, it wasn’t clear whether he accepted the explanation, but at least his didn’t pursue the matter any further. “Right, well, do what you got to do, and, er, feel better,” he nodded at Harry and turned towards the door to leave.</p><p>“Cheers, you too,” Harry said, and when the door behind the man shut close, he slouched on one of the chairs in front of his desk and let his head fall on the wooden surface. <em>Too close.</em></p><p>***</p><p>Harry delivered a sharp knock on Narcissa Malfoy’s front door. His heart was beating out of his chest when he was listening out for footsteps inside, that would indicate someone approaching the door to open it. After about thirty seconds, just when Harry was about to raise his hand to give another knock, the door swung open. A tiny silent gasp escaped his lips. On the other side of the threshold stood Malfoy, and he was a sight to see: the man was wearing short sand coloured slacks that were a bit too tight for Harry’s wellbeing, and a white long-sleeved V-neck, his hair lazily brushed to the side; despite his otherwise casual appearance, he was still shaved. Harry had never seen Malfoy wear such light colours outside of the school button down, and seeing him now in this carefree look made Harry gulp desperately. Seeing Malfoy like this certainly made him feel some type of way, but he was not ready to explore it. At the same time, Harry felt like he had intruded the Malfoys’ intimate life, like he was only supposed to see them while they were dressed to impress.</p><p>Now Malfoy was staring down at Harry, he looked a tad surprised to see him at his door, but didn’t forget to glare at him like he was a pest that needed to be eliminated. “Potter,” Malfoy spat out in his usual manner, “what are you doing here?” he inquired, and quickly ran his long fingers through his hair, was he trying to smooth it out?</p><p>Harry cleared his throat nervously, and tried to use his most official voice. “Ministry business, is your mother home?” it came out quite well, but Harry had to take a deep breath to calm himself and hoped that Malfoy didn’t notice his nervousness. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was shaking right now.</p><p>Now Malfoy’s face turned into a scowl. “She is not. If you’re here to arrest her again, you’ll have to come back later,” his voice dripped with contempt, and Harry was taken aback by his hostility. For some reason, he didn’t want Malfoy to despise him anymore; before he hadn’t cared about what the git thought of him, because he knew for certain that Malfoy loathed him, but now that he wasn’t sure anymore, he really didn’t want Malfoy to hate him. Harry had to jump in quickly to divert Malfoy from cursing him on the spot.</p><p>“No, nothing of the sorts,” Harry blurted out, a little too eagerly, “I actually came to tell her that, er, she is no longer a suspect in the case.” Malfoy’s face cleared immediately, and Harry took another deep breath, “but she should stick around, in case we, er, need her as a witness in the case.”</p><p>Now the bastard raised his chin to emphasize the sneering face he was making at Harry, he arrogantly flung his hair from his face with one flick of his neck. “Is that so? It’s like she was never guilty of your accusations after all…” his voice was mocking and he was looking right at Harry while he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. What a smug cock.</p><p>Harry snorted, irritated, “Cut it out Malfoy, we’ve been over this, she–“</p><p>Malfoy cut him off, “Was at the scene with a person associated with the case, <em>I</em> <em>know</em>,” Malfoy rolled his eyes and then returned his bored gaze back to Harry. No matter how dreadfully he was behaving at the moment, somehow Harry felt like the git was overplaying his manner, not that he hadn’t always been a right bastard, but somehow the situation felt ingenuine.</p><p>Now it was Harry’s turn to cross his arms. “So why are you being such a prick then?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows at Malfoy. He had been waiting to ask that question for over fifteen years.</p><p>But Malfoy’s answer pulled the rug from under Harry. “Force of habit, I suppose,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Every time Harry thought he had him in a corner he just straight up admitted to being a knob, but bloody hell how Harry hated the <em>It’s just who I am</em>, story. There’s no excuse for acting like a shithead! However, before Harry had the time to express these thoughts, Malfoy continued, “I thought you were off the case though, so what are you doing loitering in my mother’s yard?”</p><p>Harry had to suppress retorting that he was <em>not loitering, thank you very much,</em> and instead tried to come up with a believable excuse. There was really no reason for him to show up at Malfoy’s door, except for the obvious one. Harry scratched his neck awkwardly, “Yes, well, er, I helped catch the main suspect in the case, and in the process Evergrey got sent to St Mungo’s and he’s taking some time off, so I thought I’d… er…” <em>he’d what? HE’D WHAT? Work brain, work!</em></p><p>“Come share the jolly news yourself?” Malfoy unknowingly jumped to Harry’s rescue with his infuriating style of finishing people’s sentences and twisting their words. He was still leaning against the doorframe in his damned white shirt, and Harry was trying to not see his bicep bulging under the fabric.</p><p>“Something like that,” Harry nodded and dragged his eyes to meet Malfoy’s once again, if he looked away now it would incriminate him; he wasn’t sure what he was guilty of, but it was something he didn’t want the git to know.</p><p>Harry dropped his arms to his sides again. Now Malfoy looked at Harry up and down evaluatively, like he was assessing a clown costume – put off and amused at the same time. “To be honest… after our last chat I thought I’d never have to see your annoying mug again,” his voice wasn’t harsh, it was… teasing. Harry didn’t know how to deal with that. Thinking about the night Malfoy had showed up to his door made his heart race again, it was like he had tried to tell Harry something, and now he thought that he never wanted to see him again? There was something Harry was missing, or rather, suppressing.</p><p>“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Harry shrugged simply. He was used to disappointing people, and though he never tried to please Malfoy per se, he definitely knew there was no scenario where Malfoy wouldn’t have something negative to say about Harry.</p><p>Now Malfoy sighed and also dropped his arms from his chest, he looked pained. “Personally, and I hate to say it, of all the unpleasant things you’ve made me feel… I don’t think I’ve ever been disappointed in you, Potter,” his tone was unidentifiable and he looked a tad ill. Harry’s jaw almost dropped to the floor, what would compel Malfoy to say such a thing? He had never been disappointed in Harry? That was a bunch of codswallop, as Hagrid would say.</p><p>Harry didn’t know how to respond to such an unexpected revelation, so he just decided to go with the truth. “Well, that makes one of us,” he raised his eyebrows quickly and lifted his chin to meet Malfoy’s calculating eyes.</p><p>The blond man shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets, which made the front of his slacks tighten further – Harry had to quickly look back into Malfoy’s eyes to preserve his peace of mind. “We all disappoint ourselves, Potter. I’m disappointing myself right now,” he added. Why did the bastard have to be so cryptic? Was he disappointing himself for talking to Harry?</p><p>Harry knew that he wouldn’t get a straight answer out of Malfoy, but he had to try, so he narrowed his eyes like he was interrogating a criminal and asked “What does that mean?” he tried to use his most authoritative voice.</p><p>Malfoy just shrugged and looked away from Harry and at the garden contemplatively, “I don’t think I’m going to tell you.” One would think that Harry would already be used to Malfoy’s sudden bouts of brutal honesty, but every time it caught him by surprise. What followed was an even more agonizing question from the git. “But you can tell me why you’re really here.”</p><p>Harry started arguing the ridiculous question immediately, “What? I told you, I–“ and yet again, he was interrupted by Malfoy, the twat just loved to listen to his own voice, didn’t he.</p><p>“You’re on Ministry business, I know, you just said that, but it’s not like this matter couldn’t have waited until your little lap dog returned from his vacation,” Malfoy waved his hand to indicate to ‘this matter’ and Harry wanted to protest his crude way of referring to Patrick, but didn’t have a chance before Malfoy introduced his question again, “So… why are you really here?”</p><p>Why was he there? Harry was anxious to even think about the answer, to truly examine his motives. He wanted to know why Malfoy was acting so strangely, he wanted to know if Malfoy wanted to be his friend, if he wanted… Harry decided to cut himself off right there, he had been silent already for too long. Eventually, he decided to go with the half-truth, and admit that “I… don’t know.”</p><p>Malfoy let out a deep sigh, he looked disappointed to say the least. “You just keep toying with me, aren’t you?” he said like he was talking to a pet, it was far too casual for a sentence clearly carrying heavy implications. <em>Toying</em> with Malfoy? He thought Harry was somehow enjoying this exchange? Right about now he was ready to combust.</p><p>“<em>Excuse me?</em>” Harry demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?” The fucking audacity of Malfoy to once again show that he thought everything was about him. How was Harry toying with Malfoy? If anything, Malfoy was toying with Harry, making him doubt himself and his feelings, tripping over himself trying to make out what was happening to him.</p><p>“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Potter!” Malfoy cried out, he sounded exasperated, “aren’t you a fucking Auror? You should’ve figured it out by now,” his voice cracked towards the end, and Harry didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t know what was going on, it was just that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Malfoy quickly pulled himself together though: he stood up straight and gave a look to Harry that was very final. “I’ll give mother your message.”</p><p>Harry knew that this was the end of the discussion, another chat without him getting any answers whatsoever from Malfoy and why he was suddenly obsessed with Harry again. To be fair, Harry was becoming a bit obsessed with Malfoy, too.</p><p>For a second, they just stared at each other. Even in these clothes, and his hair fallen on his face again, Malfoy was very impressive, though Harry had to admit that the black suit did compliment him. They were just standing there, not knowing what to say or what to do. Maybe this was the moment for Harry to resolve some internal conflicts, raise some questions. <em>What do you want from me? Why are you acting so strange? Why are you saying all these things? You’re not telling me something, what is it!?</em> Just when Harry had built up some courage, he took a breath and was seconds away from opening his mouth, Malfoy closed the door in front of him.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Ghosts of the Past, Present, and Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another week at work went by, and the memory potion case was not moving forward. Even though Harry wasn’t even on the case, he hated waiting around with nothing he could do about it. Of course, he had other things to worry about, like the seemingly endless stream of permission slips waiting to be signed finding their way onto his desk. Patrick had promised Harry that he could tag along in the interrogation once they were able to get around to do it. For now, they were just standing by, waiting for the Department of Mysteries to be done with the serum to counter the effects of the memory potion. Harry’s head was swarming with creative ways to get Ridgenorth to talk, however, the whole week went by with no news.</p><p>On Saturday morning, Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing his breakfast and reading the <em>Prophet</em>. The sun was already high, but he had once again had trouble falling asleep, and couldn't be bothered to get up early on a weekend. Now the light was flooding his kitchen, making sharp shadows appear behind his glass of orange juice and the coffee cup; outside it was turning into a warm April day, and the kitchen had warmed up quite a lot from just the sun shining in. A smell of coffee was still lingering in the air as Harry got up to change. He glanced at his garden, slowly illuminated by the sun climbing higher and higher in the sky, the white garden furniture were almost blinding, reflecting all of the light hitting their surface.</p><p>Just when Harry had cleaned his breakfast dishes and put them away, there was a sharp knock on his front door. Demanding yet polite: his heart jumped into his throat. What was Malfoy doing at his place, <em>again?</em> Harry frantically made his way into the hallway, and looked at his reflection in the mirror: he was wearing his muggle sweatpants and an old Quidditch t-shirt that was too tight. Harry tried to quickly smooth out his hair with his fingers, he had left his wand in the kitchen, shit. It was too late to get it now.</p><p>Heart pounding, and his hands shaking a little, Harry opened the door to find the tall man standing on his steps. This time the parts had been switched, with Malfoy wearing sleek robes, hair done, whereas the role of the dishevelled confused person was left to Harry. There was a determined look in the blond man’s eyes, and Harry knew from experience that he was either going to hear it or get it. He reflexively squeezed the doorknob out of Malfoy’s line of sight, to gain stability, or something of the sorts.</p><p>Before Harry could ask Malfoy what on earth he was doing at his place once again, the git already had his explanation at the ready: “Your blasted Ministry is performing a search on my mother’s house and they kicked us out.” He was glaring at Harry, like he himself had suggested such a search. It didn’t make sense though, why would they search Narcissa’s things? Harry felt awkward even thinking about the not-so-gentle reminder Malfoy must have gotten from when the Manor had been searched and sealed.</p><p>“What? Why? She’s no longer a suspect in the case,” Harry frowned and scratched his head. Evergrey had been very clear when they last talked and they had agreed that Narcissa wasn’t under suspicion anymore. Hopefully Malfoy understood that no one was going to take their house away from them, not on Harry’s watch, in any case.</p><p>Malfoy rolled his eyes as if Harry had just stated the stupidest thing he’d heard all morning, which was probably true. “So we thought, but apparently it is a ‘precaution’, it should take a couple of hours for them to finish, and since I personally blame you for all the pain and suffering, you don’t mind if I…” the bastard was already trying to make his way in through the door, but Harry quickly moved his arm to block his way. Malfoy’s look was dirty to say the least.</p><p>“Woah, woah, woah, first of all, if you were both kicked out, where’s your mum?” As Harry had oh-so-cleverly detected, Malfoy had arrived alone, and if they were both kicked out of the house… Harry found it suspicious that he would ever leave his dear mother behind, especially since Narcissa was such a fan of Harry’s nowadays.</p><p>Now Malfoy’s face turned from bitter to scowling, he looked away from Harry. “She went to see my father in Azkaban,” <em>right</em>, the man looked distinctly like someone who had just eaten a spoonful of baking powder, “me, I’d rather get my teeth pulled out, but since that’s not an option either I decided to do the equally unpleasant thing and come crash at your flat for the time being.” What a lovely thought, Harry especially liked the part where Malfoy compared his company to getting one’s teeth pulled out, how charming. He appreciated the heads up as well, though on second thought, the Ministry probably didn't give them one either.</p><p>“Right, it’s just, now is not a good time, for me,” Harry insisted, attempting to be polite and firm at the same time, while still being utterly confused about the whole situation. He also thought about how he hadn’t cleaned his house in weeks, it was mainly the upstairs that was a mess, though. Harry just had to prevent Malfoy from infiltrating the upstairs, where his bedroom was…</p><p>The git furrowed his eyebrows and looked almost offended, like Harry in fact wasn’t waiting around all day for his delightful company. “Why? You got plans?” he asked in a snide voice, as if he was equally taken aback and insulted that Harry had a life, of sorts.</p><p>Harry raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms on his chest, his shirt about thirteen years too tight, he’d have to change it as soon as Malfoy got in. He was already disappointed in himself knowing that the git would come in one way or another, he always got what he wanted, the bastard. “Well, I was planning on going to the gym, for starters,” Harry protested weakly.</p><p>Now it was Malfoy’s turn to raise his eyebrows and eye Harry’s figure up and down, a little bit too long for Harry’s comfort. Yep, the shirt was definitely too tight. “Well, you’re just going to have to do that later, now may I?”</p><p>Harry sighed and let Malfoy pass, one of these days he was going to stand up to him, really. But for now, he had a thought in his mind; if Malfoy was going to hang around for a few hours, Harry might as well use the time fish out some answers of what the hell was happening. “So why didn’t you go visit your dad? I thought you’d like to see him, what with how much you looked up to him back in school.” Harry couldn’t not think about the countless times he’d heard <em>My father will hear about this!</em></p><p>The git was now standing in the middle of the hallway carpet, scanning the room up and down, a habit of his, apparently. “That was a different time, I may love my father, I just don’t respect him anymore,” he said so matter-of-factly that Harry was a bit taken aback by the content of the sentence, however, before he had time to ask further questions, Malfoy already added, “What a lovely place you have here.” Somehow his catty tone didn’t make it seem like a compliment at all. Malfoy took off his cloak and brutishly threw it on the chair next to a houseplant on a tall side table. He was wearing a black turtleneck and his usual black slacks underneath. It created a contrast with how messy Harry’s appearance was, he’d have to flee and change his clothes sooner rather than later.</p><p>“Er, thanks,” Harry said and followed on Malfoy’s coattails as he was making his way through the ground floor of the house, first inspecting the living room, and then the kitchen. The man was carefully eyeing all of the rooms and observing all kinds of artefacts in the house, like he was trying to find a clue to why Harry was such an insufferable prat – his words, not Harry’s. A perfect time for him to excuse himself, “Make yourself at home, er, I’m going to go change.”</p><p>“Isn’t that just your usual style?” Malfoy replied sarcastically, not looking Harry, but instead turning a small ceramic statue in his hands. Harry had gotten that from Ron and Hermione as a souvenir from their honeymoon. A bitter reminder, he wouldn’t mind if Malfoy would accidentally smash it.</p><p>Harry scurried up the stairs as quickly as he could and raided his tiny wardrobe, only to realize he would have to get some new clothes. For now, he changed into a plain black t-shirt and some blue jeans he found. He quickly performed a tidying up spell in the room with his wand that he’d grabbed from the kitchen, and left before all of his clothes had folded themselves back into his closet.</p><p>When Harry returned downstairs, he found Malfoy sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning’s <em>Prophet</em>. In the cover there was a moving picture of Kingsley with a headline about the upcoming elections, which in Harry’s opinion couldn’t come fast enough – if he had to see one more permission slip he thought was going to go mad. Malfoy didn’t even look up at Harry when he said “Nice garden.”</p><p>Harry looked out of the windows that he’d cleaned a while back: the sun was shining brightly on his modest garden furniture, and the tulips near the hedge were starting to open, Harry had been observing them pushing out of the flowerbed for ages already. “Um, thanks, Neville helped plant most of the stuff in there,” Harry answered awkwardly, and hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t start a conversation about plants, because truthfully, Harry didn’t know a great deal about them.</p><p>“How’s Longbottom doing these days? I though he became an Auror, too,” Malfoy closed the paper and pushed out the chair without getting up, he just turned to Harry curiously and leaned his elbow on the table, propping up his head on his hand. Why was he being so… companionable all of a sudden? Was it because he couldn’t storm out once he had thrown some horrible insult in Harry’s way like usually? To be honest, Harry would prefer that, at least then he’d know where he stood. Dealing with a sociable Malfoy was new territory for him, it was ominous in the same way as a calm before the storm.</p><p>Harry was standing awkwardly in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, whereas Malfoy was casually sprawled out on the dining chair like the utter knob he was. Harry’s hand was sweaty against the granite. “He’s teaching Herbology at Hogwarts,” Harry managed to stammer out, he felt quite uncomfortable in this situation, but at least he wasn’t wearing his pyjamas anymore.</p><p>“Of course he is,” Malfoy snorted and turned to look at the garden again, not arrogantly, just, looking at it. Once again Harry found himself alone with Malfoy; it was always a back and forth with nothing for Harry to gain.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re not going to take the teaching job?” he asked Malfoy. Last time they’d talked about it he had seemed pretty adamant that he would never do such a thing. Harry wondered if he’d changed his mind, Harry was almost amused imagining Malfoy and Neville sitting side by side in a teachers’ meeting at Hogwarts, but only almost – he was a little bit too terrified by the situation still to derive much pleasure from the images he was now getting.</p><p>Malfoy shook his head determinedly. “I don’t want to return to that foul place,” he scoffed. That was fair, there were an abundance of unpleasant memories having to do with Hogwarts in Harry’s mind too, but he always first and foremost associated the school with home. The same couldn’t be said for Malfoy.</p><p>“I understand,” Harry said quietly, and couldn't help adding, “it’s just, you’d be the perfect Head of Slytherin House.” It was true, the position fit Malfoy like a glove.</p><p>“Why? Because I’m a former Death Eater and an insufferable bastard?” Harry would’ve expected the man’s tone to be much more scathing, but he was surprisingly quite composed, like he was talking about the weather. Malfoy was still looking at the garden, away from Harry.</p><p>Harry wanted to snort at the question, but realized it probably wouldn't be the best approach to the situation, he scratched his neck awkwardly. “Well, er, yes,” he had to admit, “but you’re also resourceful and ambitious, and you don’t take shit from anyone.” Harry didn’t have many inherently good things to say about Slytherin, so he decided to combine his objective knowledge of what he knew about the house and what he definitely knew about Malfoy.</p><p>The blond git gave a huff that was nearing a laugh and turned around in his chair to look at Harry once again. “That must be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me, Potter,” a smirk was hovering in the corner of his mouth, making Harry more uneasy under the man’s gaze. The moment was too intimate, Malfoy was in his <em>house</em> for Merlin’s sakes.</p><p>Harry nervously cleared his throat, the cordial tone of the conversation unsettled him. “Yes, well, maybe I’m suffering from a temporary mental aberration, or something,” he shrugged, still not daring to sit down with Malfoy.</p><p>“Permanent if you ask me,” the man snorted and raised his eyebrows. Harry would have laughed if the quip came from anyone else, he couldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction. Also, he felt so tense that any natural reaction at this point would have been impossible.</p><p>Instead, Harry decided it was better to change the subject, before Malfoy had the chance to dish out any additional petty insults. “Cheers, er, can I get you something? Coffee, tea?” <em>Your cloak on the way out of my house?</em></p><p>“I thought you’d never offer, tea please, milk no sugar.” Harry thought that the only thing different between him and a house elf at the moment was the curt <em>please</em> muttered in between words. At least now he had something to do with his hands, and while he put the kettle on and got two cups out, Malfoy didn’t attempt to make any more small talk. For a while, it was quiet, just the sound of Harry clinking teacups on the table and fetching the milk, until finally the kettle started to whistle. He wondered if Malfoy would have something to say about his muggle way of preparing tea, too.</p><p>Now Harry presented him with a cup full of milky tea, and dared to sit down himself. “Right,” Harry took a sip from his cup, “can I ask you something?” The morning sun had already climbed up high, and was no longer making Harry sweat in his own dining room. The light made the gold streaks in Malfoy’s hair come out, though, which made Harry sweat anyway.</p><p>“If you must,” Malfoy scowled and took a careful sip of his own tea, looking at least as suspicious as a person testing out for poison. His expression looked as if Harry had catered him a cup full of vodka, but for some reason withheld from commenting on it. It was odd to say the least.</p><p>“The way you were talking about your dad earlier, that you don’t respect him… he’s still your dad though, why would he need your respect?” Harry knew he was begging for trouble interfering in Malfoy’s family, but the mere concept of needing to respect someone to want to be around them, especially one’s own parents, was baffling to Harry. He would have done just about anything to have a moment even as short as a prison visit with his own dad.</p><p>“You wouldn’t get it, Potter,” Malfoy mumbled and looked away, his hand still curled around the warm cup. Harry took note of the Malfoy family ring and another, more subtle, silver ring on the man’s long finger.</p><p>Harry suddenly got annoyed at Malfoy’s plain ungratefulness and the implication that his answer carried. “Why? Because my parents are dead? I’m still pretty sure it would be more important for me to love them than to respect them,” his tried to keep his tone restrained, but his voice cracked towards the end from sheer frustration.</p><p>“My father’s a coward,” Malfoy spat out and slammed the table with his open palm. Harry jumped slightly at the loud sound, adrenaline rushing through him. Malfoy was turning a shade of red, and there was rage in his expression. Harry threw a question in the air immediately.</p><p>“Because he didn’t fight alongside Voldemort? Or because he did?” he pressed, his jaw was clenched. Harry stiffly leaned back in his chair, thinking back to all of the times Lucius could’ve helped him, but didn’t. Even in the Battle of Hogwarts when he abandoned Voldemort’s agenda, he hid away with his family, letting people on both sides die. Malfoy was right, his father was a coward.</p><p>“Because he didn't fight for <em>me!”</em> Malfoy shouted suddenly and shot up from his chair, walking over to the windows and staring at the garden menacingly, he was trembling slightly from head to toe, “He didn’t protect me,” Malfoy’s voice had gone raspy, like there was something stuck in his throat, Harry knew the emotion only too well, “you know what he did when Voldemort chose me to be the one to kill Dumbledore?” now he turned to Harry with the bitter face of a man who never got to be a child, <em>“Nothing,</em> he did <em>nothing</em> when they pulled me out of my chair to get the Dark Mark, you think I wanted it?” he spat out, “I didn’t. I didn’t want anything to do with it. I was sixteen, <em>sixteen</em>, for Merlin’s sakes!” Now Malfoy was visibly shaking, and Harry had to fight an ambiguous urge to… what? Console him? It was troubling seeing the man like this, compared with the arrogant git Harry was used to dealing with. He had a feeling that Malfoy wouldn’t want to hear some soppy apology from him. There was a piece stuck in Harry’s throat as well, preventing him from saying anything without sounding incredibly mushy. It was clear Malfoy didn’t want Harry's pity.</p><p>“Snape protected you,” Harry said quietly after a while, “until the end.” Despite Severus Snape being one of the foulest teachers and people Harry had had the misfortune to know, he had lived, and died, with the silent honour of a loyal friend. “Dumbledore knew you wouldn’t do it, and he had an agreement with Snape that if it ever came to it, Snape would be the one to kill him, that’s why he was trying to stall you in the Astronomy Tower that night.”</p><p>Now Malfoy turned to Harry, eyebrows furrowed, eyes red, though he wasn’t shaking anymore. The man slowly approached the table so ominously that Harry had to resist an urge to flee the scene. “How do you know all this?” his tone was quiet but demanding.</p><p>Harry had to draw a deep breath, he felt like he might have forgotten to breathe for a moment. “I was there, in the Tower,” he revealed, voice low, “under the invisibility cloak, Dumbledore petrified me when he heard you come in… he knew otherwise I would jump to defend him.” Harry tried not to relive the horrors of that night too vividly, they already accompanied him in his nightmares. He carefully monitored Malfoys face, trying to predict a reaction that would potentially be perilous.</p><p>But Malfoy was silent, just looking at Harry, not moving from where he was standing. He looked a bit ill, and Harry didn’t know what to do. Seconds were passing where they were just there, Harry expecting Malfoy to talk, yell at Harry, throw something, cry.</p><p>Nothing happened, and after a while Harry couldn’t bear the silence anymore, and continued. He cleared his throat and looked down at his half empty teacup to avoid Malfoy’s stare. “Er, right before Snape died, he gave me some of his memories, and I saw them, in the Pensieve in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, of him and Dumbledore talking, Dumbledore made Snape agree to carry out whatever plan Voldemort had forced you to do, to protect you,” he turned his head to quickly scan Malfoy’s face, “in the end, they acted right according to their plan, they were never going to let you do it.”</p><p>After that, it was quiet for a long time. Harry cautiously keeping an eye on Malfoy, as he slowly approached the table again, and finally took a seat, his body limp. Even after that, he looked out of the window for a few minutes, before saying anything. “I never knew that,” he uttered simply, and didn't look like he was going to continue. His face had gone blank, the fire behind his eyes extinguished. Now he just looked exhausted, and Harry pitied him; he must have carried the matter around a lot more than Harry realized.</p><p>“You were never alone, Draco,” Malfoy’s first name kind of just slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he had the chance to stop himself, he hadn't even thought about it. Malfoy flinched and gave a quick glance at Harry, before seemingly stopping himself and firmly staring out of the window again. It was possible that Harry imagined it, but he could’ve sworn that a light red colour was creeping up Malfoy’s neck.</p><p>Soon, the moment had turned uncomfortable, and Harry wanted to dig himself out of the hole he had created. “Did it hurt? Getting the Dark Mark?” Immediately after asking the question, Harry realized he could have probably picked his topic more carefully.</p><p>But Malfoy’s expression didn't change, it was the same stone-like gloom that now shadowed his face. “Yes,” he said very silently, and moved to rub his left forearm absentmindedly. Sometimes Harry forgot he even had the tattoo, though he was sure Malfoy didn’t. It was always there, it would always be there.</p><p>“Sorry,” was the only thing Harry could utter, and he still managed to sound like a complete tit.</p><p>“Yes, well, what’s done is done,” Malfoy seemed to snap out of whatever personal journey he had been on, and turned to Harry once more.</p><p>“You know, and I don’t mean to overlook your adversities, but you’re not the only one who has suffered, I know sometimes it can feel like that, but, you’re not alone.” Harry voiced his soppy attempt at somehow comforting Malfoy. He really wasn’t good at this stuff, where was Hermione when he needed her?</p><p>Now Malfoy scowled and brushed his hair from his face forcefully. “We all know, Potter, you saw Cedric Diggory die when you were fourteen, you saw the rebirth of Voldemort, if there’s anyone in Britain that’s been through some horrid shit, it’s you,” his voice was biting and merciless.</p><p>Harry really didn’t want to return to the old <em>That’s not what I mean and you know it</em>, line. “It’s not a competition,” Harry said quietly, although he was sure that Malfoy understood his poor attempt at making him feel less alone, and was just acting like a git. They were quiet for a long time, just the sound of birds chirping outside infiltrating the kitchen, there was a blackbird hopping across Harry’s yard. Harry didn’t want to sound like he was fishing for sympathy, so he decided to let go of describing whatever horrid things he himself had been through, and focus on maybe diverting Malfoy from his resurfacing agony.</p><p>“Speaking of school,” Harry started, “I bet you’ll never guess who released Buckbeak in year three.” He very near grinned when Malfoy gave him an incredulous look, maybe resulting from the sudden change of tone, but Harry hoped it was because what they had done was so very absurd.</p><p>“What? That foul Hippogriff?” Malfoy’s voice was doubtful, “That’s impossible, Fudge told my father he saw the beast in front of Hagrid’s hut just before he went inside,” he lifted his hand in a wave to back up his claim, “<em>and</em> it was forbidden for students to be out that late.” Though he seemed to realize then that curfews had never stopped Harry before.</p><p>Harry snorted at the wobbly argument the man was offering. “You know what was even more forbidden? The Time-Turner we used to pull it off.” He was still quite impressed with him and Hermione for succeeding in the seemingly impossible task. Now he actually grinned at the stunned expression taking over Malfoy’s face.</p><p><em>“The what?”</em> he hissed, “I thought all the Time-Turners got destroyed.” His face was a mixture of strident and confused, he was now leaning back in his chair, and Harry was pleased with himself for managing to distract Malfoy so well.</p><p>He nodded. “They did, but that was two years later.” When he with Dumbledore’s Army infiltrated the Ministry and accidentally destroyed the Time Room, oh well, best not to dwell in the past.</p><p>Malfoy’s face scrunched up in thought. “Right, the year Umbridge took over,” he mumbled, but then cleared his throat, “I must say that there was a lady who knew how to get results.”</p><p>Did Malfoy <em>really</em> have to say that? Harry shuddered at the memory of Umbridge, he remembered all of the horrid things she had done, a little too well for his preference, and didn’t care to touch upon Malfoy’s assertion. He only reflexively rubbed his left hand, which Malfoy studied at observantly, without commenting on the motion further.</p><p>“Weren’t you with Cho Chang back then?” Malfoy asked suddenly.</p><p>Harry could feel a bright red blush creep from his neck to his face. “Er, yes, I was… it didn’t work out in the end,” he tried to chuckle nonchalantly, but the voice got stuck to his throat, so he just ended up letting out an odd coughing sound. Talking about his love life with the git for a second time already made Harry start sweating again.</p><p>“Right, well, being fifteen isn’t easy,” Malfoy stated simply.</p><p>Harry shrugged, at least it hadn’t been easy for him. “Especially if a corrupt government is trying to suppress the fact that a wizard constantly trying to off you even exists,” he couldn't help pointing it out. He was still filled with the old feeling of frustration and rage when he thought about Umbridge and Fudge scheming amongst themselves to cover up for Voldemort, from sheer fear, the cowards. Sure, Harry had his crush on Cho not work out, but at the time, there had been more pressing matters for him to worry about.</p><p>“Rougher for some than others, then,” Malfoy uttered, and took a long pause, “did you know my father wanted to put me in Durmstrang?” The sudden piece of news took Harry by surprise, he had never known that many things about Malfoy, except that he was a foul git with a cruel cowardly father.</p><p>“In the north? Why?” he asked. Hogwarts was so much closer, though he hated to realize that the thought of Malfoy in the Durmstrang uniform was indeed an immediate thought that he had. Harry tried to stop a blush from creeping onto his face again while he was measuring Malfoy with his gaze.</p><p>“Because they didn’t accept muggle-borns,” Malfoy said very plainly, “but mother wanted to keep me closer to home,” he added after a short pause. Naturally: Harry had experienced Narcissa’s fierce motherly love himself in the Forbidden Forest all those years ago. It had saved his life.</p><p>Of course, Harry thought, Lucius wanted to place Malfoy in a pureblood school, it made perfect sense. It would have saved both of them a lot of grief, too. “If you were older, do you think you would’ve entered the Triwizard Tournament as the Durmstrang champion?” Harry blurted out, why did he even ask that? Maybe he was wondering how the man would’ve done, with Harry competing against him. He was sure that the Chinese Fireball would have burnt all of Malfoy’s hair off in one go, if not the whole man!</p><p>Malfoy snorted. “Are you joking? That whole affair is a suicide.” Right after saying that he pulled a face. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t the best choice for words. Poor Cedric.</p><p>“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Harry nodded, partly because he wanted to brush over the whole thing, but mainly because Malfoy was completely right. Harry didn’t enter then, and he wouldn't enter now, just something to do with not wanting eternal glory at the price of one’s life.</p><p>Now Malfoy went serious, and his voice was quiet. “Whatever happened in that maze?” he asked, “You and Diggory were gone for a long time, and when you turned up…” he couldn't even finish his sentence, how did he expect Harry to fare? Harry was wondering if he wanted to share the events of that night with Malfoy, it had probably been one of the most traumatic experiences he’d ever experienced, though maybe Malfoy would understand and realize that they had both been through some horrid things. After all, they had already shared some gruesome things so far in the conversation, what was one more? It could be therapeutic.</p><p>Harry bit his lip and didn't know how to sit in the chair, he fidgeted a little while he was speaking. “Well, me and Cedric agreed to grab the Triwizard Cup at the same time, to share the win, you know,” he paused to give time for Malfoy to roll his eyes at the soppy intention, but the man didn't react in any way, “the cup was a portkey… to a graveyard,” Harry continued, not sure how to describe the events so that Malfoy would understand the sheer horror of the situation without having to reminisce it too vividly. The man didn't say anything, he was leaning on the table with his elbows, arms crossed.</p><p>“I heard someone yelling… to…” Harry had to pause to swallow, his whole mouth was dry, Malfoy gave him an evaluative look, “he told Peter Pettigrew to… to kill him, and he killed Cedric, just like that,” Harry was starting to tremble, he was feeling hot and cold at the same time, like he was feverish, he had lived through the events of that night a hundred times over in his nightmares, “the Death Eaters were there, your dad, too,” now Malfoy looked up quickly and met Harry’s eyes with his grey stare, he looked nauseous, an expression mirroring Harry’s internal sensation, “they… did some kind of a spell to bring Voldemort back to life… and he made me duel him–“ now Harry was cut off, and for once he was glad it happened.</p><p><em>“You</em> duelled Voldemort?” Malfoy interrupted him with the most bewildered tone Harry had ever heard him use, “At <em>fourteen?</em> Merlin, no wonder you were so rigid after that,” the man slouched back in his chair and look through the window once more, furrowing his eyebrows and biting his lip.</p><p>“Right,” Harry wasn’t sure how to continue, “anyway, er, I had to bring Cedric’s body back, so I Accio’d the cup and it transported me back to school.” The marching band music was still echoing in his ears, suddenly permeated by the horrified scream of Fleur realizing the horrific fate of Cedric.</p><p>“By Salazar,” Malfoy’s voice had quieted again, “that is…”</p><p>He didn't finish his sentence, and Harry didn’t know what to say either. It was so indescribably shocking, and he wished he’d never have to recount the events of that night to anyone ever again. Now they just sat in silence, neither of them knowing what to say to the other.</p><p>Eventually, Harry inquired, “So… do you regret it? Coming to Hogwarts?”</p><p>Malfoy was moving his head from side to side, looking like he was trying to decide how to respond, “No… and yes,” he gave a sharp look at Harry, who got a single chill running down his spine for some inexplicable reason.</p><p>There was another long pause, where Harry was trying to come up with ways to talk to Malfoy about what was happening, or not happening, between them. He couldn’t come up with an appropriate way to make such a drastic shift in tone. Harry knew how he felt, no matter how confused about it he was, but was scared to death to bring it up, he was not good in situations like these. He wished that such things could be solved with a duel or something else he was good at, like a round of Quidditch, without putting his integrity on the line.</p><p>Harry wanted to ask Malfoy what was going on, but the man’s silvery stare made his heart race and his palms sweaty. It had been so much easier to be at odds with the git, always up in arms when they saw each other, Malfoy constantly infuriating him with one thing or another, and now Harry couldn't help thinking if it was all just setting the stage for something far more inevitable. He wanted to say something, anything, to know if it was all in his head, or if the past weeks of the man infiltrating Harry’s life had been a mere coincidence, and Harry’s loneliness had made him read too much into the whole affair.</p><p>The silence was dragging on, and Harry felt a pressure to come out with what he had been asking all along, but had never received an answer. His heart was beating fast as he attempted to dry his palms off on his trousers. He drew a sharp breath, but at the last moment, he chickened out and out came something else entirely. “Er, do you want to go sit outside? It’s a beautiful day,” Harry finally understood Dobby’s habit of hitting his own head with a lamp, how was it that being with Malfoy made Harry act like a complete fool?</p><p>The git sucked on his cheek while looking into the garden, but eventually nodded, “Yes, I suppose we can,” he uttered and got up, leaving his untouched teacup behind. Harry mimicked the motion, but rose from his chair a bit too eagerly and hit his thigh on the table. Why was he so worked up? His heart was still beating fast and he fumbled with his words. Harry tried to suppress a swear to stop Malfoy from noticing his little collision, which was definitely going to leave a bruise.</p><p>Harry quickly made his way to the glass doors next to the table and opened them both to let in the warm wind and the smell of tulips that was gently floating in the air. He stepped outside and felt the sun hot on his black shirt. The weather was very pleasant; the spring wind was blowing from the South, ruffling Harry’s hair but not making him cold, the clouds in the sky were tall and didn’t seem to be moving much, and the few birds nearby were arranging a full concerto. Harry made his way over to the modest garden chair that was propped up next to the small table where he sometimes took his morning coffee in the summer. He pulled the chair out and sat down, directing his attention to Malfoy.</p><p>The blond man was walking around the small garden, examining the small plants pushing out of their flowerbeds. The heat of the sun was collecting on his black turtleneck, and it made him absentmindedly roll up his sleeves, exposing the pale skin underneath. Harry gulped at the sight of the tall man with his sleeves rolled up, silver and gold hair being gently dishevelled by the wind. It was so out of place that Harry had to look away when Malfoy turned to him. He looked so incredibly good Harry had to focus on acting normal, to not stare.</p><p>“What’s the matter, Potter? Never seen the Dark Mark before?” Malfoy’s icy voice pierced the warm spring air, making Harry flinch. He had already forgotten about the whole thing, and hadn’t seen Malfoy’s forearm from that far away, but him being upset about the Dark Mark was a better alternative to what actually made him flustered, so he decided to go with that.</p><p>“Can I see it?” Harry asked, not only because he wanted an excuse to get closer to Malfoy, but also because he was truly curious to see what the tattoo looked like after all of these years.</p><p>“If you must,” Malfoy scowled and strode over to Harry, sitting in the garden chair next to his. The man extended his arm to present the faded, smudged symbol to Harry. It contrasted his porcelain skin. The magical ink wasn’t alive anymore, it was more of a memory of what it had once been. Harry wanted to touch it, to feel Malfoy’s pulse, see if it was as fast as his. “Satisfied?” the bloke said coldly and pulled his arm back, breaking Harry’s trance.</p><p>Malfoy didn’t roll his sleeve back down to cover the mark though, maybe in defiance of Harry’s supposed aversion to it. They were quiet for a while. Harry was slowly gathering back up the courage to ask Malfoy what he’d wanted to ask him for a minute now. Since the git also didn't say anything, it was left to Harry to pick up the conversation, so he did. “Why have you been acting so odd lately?” he asked finally, and tried to ignore the slight tremble in his voice.</p><p>Malfoy snorted humourlessly, “Have I?” Harry was disappointed. What a non-answer, the git truly was the master of avoiding questions, not even looking at Harry as he replied.</p><p>“I think we both know that you have,” Harry tried to suppress his impatience, and handle the situation as dispassionately as possible, like he was conducting an interrogation. He tried not to care if he sounded stupid, he had been dragged along for far too long.</p><p>“And I think we both know I’m not going to talk about it,” came the simple answer, what an arrogant bastard Malfoy was. He was sprawled out in the chair in his usual manner, but seemed tense. The sunlight fell on his hair and his face, bringing out the slight tan that he had gathered back in Italy, it had faded during his time in Britain. The git’s face was sulking as always, and he didn’t even look in Harry’s direction.</p><p>“Why not?” Harry inquired persistently, he was tired of the same old dance.</p><p>“Because it’s <em>private</em>, Merlin, you’re such an insufferable little twat,” Malfoy spat out, and for a moment, looked like he was going to stand up to leave, his limbs twisting as if he couldn't decide whether to stay or go. Harry hoped he wouldn't go. Eventually, the man relaxed a bit, staying seated. Harry’s stare was drilling into the side of his face.</p><p>“Then why are you here?” Harry had switched to a gentler tone while attempting to stand his ground, every time he tried to approach the matter he was shot down. He knew he was too much of a coward to come forward with what he himself had to say, and he’d much rather force Malfoy to get out with it, and then react to whatever got revealed.</p><p>“I told you, thanks to you, the Ministry’s turning my mother’s house upside down,” Malfoy voiced his previous explanation bitingly, but it felt as flimsy as Harry’s had sounded when he had been asked the same question by Malfoy a week ago.</p><p>“Is that the real reason?” Harry persisted still. His voice was steady, but his hands were twisting under the table. Harry knew that pressing Malfoy like this could have volatile consequences, and he tried to tread lightly.</p><p>Now the git spun around in his chair to face Harry. “It’s the reason I’m giving you,” he stated firmly, “now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about anything else, maybe more of your childhood trauma?” he slouched back into the chair, taking a deep breath and looking away, “Tell me, Potter, what were your aunt and uncle like?” he asked, closing his eyes and facing the sun.</p><p>Harry blinked, baffled. “How do you know I lived with my aunt and uncle?” How the fuck did Malfoy know everything? He was like the evil Hermione of the grapevine.</p><p>“Please, I’m my father’s son, and he knew everything, so naturally, I knew everything,” the blond man just waved Harry’s incredulous question away with his hand without opening his eyes. He ran his hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looked brilliant with his hair pulled back. Harry felt queasy.</p><p>“Right,” he said, his voice stuck in his throat. Why was Malfoy interviewing him about his personal life? Was this his way of getting to know Harry? Because it wasn’t the best strategy.</p><p>“Go ahead, Potter, amuse me,” Malfoy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Now he turned to look at Harry, and his eyes monitored his face observantly. For some reason, Malfoy’s stare made Harry feel very in the spotlight, and he wasn’t sure he appreciated the sensation. He had had enough of that in his life, though he had to admit that for some twisted reason, he wanted to be seen by Malfoy.</p><p>Harry cleared his throat and looked away. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal in the first place about his miserable home life, he didn’t know how well it would land with Malfoy. “Well, I don’t know where to start… they weren’t very nice people.” It was the understatement of the century, but Harry wasn’t there to fish pity from Malfoy, for that he would’ve seen Hermione.</p><p>“I’m shocked,” Malfoy expressed in a tone that expressed how thoroughly un-shocked he was, he seemed amused toying with Harry, “I would imagine that anyone who raised you must have been as unbearably heroic as you turned out to be.” His face was mocking but his stare was attentive, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what his agenda was with the whole thing, starting with him showing up at his house.</p><p><em>If that’s how the git wanted to play it.</em> Harry had plenty of material on the Dursleys and how ghastly they were, the lot. “For ten years, my room was a cupboard, that was under the stairs in the hall,” Harry asserted and monitored Malfoy’s face for a reaction.</p><p>“How foul, go on,” Malfoy had the audacity to say, but his smirk had vanished. Instead, he was furrowing his eyebrows, making him look almost concerned, as if he was capable of being concerned for Harry.</p><p><em>Fine</em>. “My only clothes were whatever my cousin Dudley would care to discard on to me,” Harry continued, and started to get a taste of the storytelling, he sat up in his chair more, “they moved me to Dudley’s other room to stay when I turned eleven.”</p><p>Malfoy shook his head and raised his hands. “Hold on, they had another room? And they <em>still</em> put you in the cupboard at first?”</p><p>“Oh yes, they had a guest bedroom too, but this was an extra room for Dudley’s toys,” Harry nodded eagerly, he knew he had Malfoy hooked now. For once, Harry enjoyed having the man’s undivided attention, do anything he liked with it, say anything and he would earn his recognition.</p><p>“For Salazar’s sakes,” Malfoy huffed and rubbed his chin in thought, still looking at Harry.</p><p>“My second summer in that room, before our second year, my uncle Vernon had bars installed onto my window so that I couldn’t leave,” Harry recounted, but left out how Dobby, the Malfoys’ house elf at the time, had Apparated into his room and essentially put in motion the series of events that had eventually caused the bars to appear in Harry’s window.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Malfoy sat up again, “You’re telling me that you were raised by these monsters? No wonder you were so horny for Hogwarts and Dumbledore and all that,” he shook his head while delivering his dig.</p><p>“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Harry mumbled. A crude, vulgar way to put it, but a way nonetheless. Malfoy had always had a talent of delivering quips in the most insulting way one could possibly do it, inherited from his dad no doubt.</p><p>“That does explain how you grew up to be so disgustingly impetuous,” he now spat out, but with less force than normally. Malfoy still looked pissed off, but in a milder way, the same way he had been constantly pissed off at Crabbe and Goyle back in the day. He was giving bashful looks to Harry’s direction.</p><p>“Cheers,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.</p><p>Malfoy had perhaps started to regret his choice for words, because now it seemed that he tried to take back what he had said, effectively making the situation worse for himself. A feeling very familiar to Harry. “I’m just saying that, if you had had a normal childhood–“</p><p>Now it was Harry’s time to cut him off: “You think I didn't want to be normal?” he protested forcefully, making Malfoy stare at him in a confused manner, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, but nothing I ever got to be, it was always ‘Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived’, ‘Harry Potter the Triwizard Champion’, ‘Harry Potter the Saviour’, or ‘Harry Potter the Head Auror’,” Harry found himself going on a tangent longer than he’d expected. He was just so bloody sick and tired of Malfoy always thinking that Harry was just some git so full of himself that he was doing all of these insanely dangerous things in some desperate search for attention. Truthfully, Harry was okay with no attention at all for the rest of his life. He hated his sudden compulsive need to correct Malfoy’s opinion of him.</p><p>“All right, I get the point,” the man raised his hands in the sign of surrender, although he was still eyeing Harry up and down suspiciously.</p><p>“I didn't want any of it, none of it,” Harry’s voice cracked a bit towards the end, and his hands balled up into fists under the table. He just wanted a normal life, surely Malfoy could understand that.</p><p>“It wasn’t easy for the normal people, either,” the wanker said after a pause. He had gone back to sulking and being generally moody, while not looking at Harry anymore. At this point Harry assumed that a scowl was just Malfoy’s resting face.</p><p>“War rarely is,” Harry said quietly. He thought about all of the people he’d lost, the list was too long to recite, and he didn’t want to start. Growing up the way he did, he just wanted a do-over, to get to be a normal teenager for once. He would have to settle to being a semi-average adult, if that.</p><p>Now Malfoy gave a deep sigh. “I don’t mean the war, I mean, regular things, figuring out who you are when you’re a teenager, stuff like that,” he said it as though he was thinking of something specific, and Harry was debating to himself whether he wanted to know what it was or not. What had Malfoy been battling with that wasn’t related to Voldemort or his parents? Figuring himself out… maybe he was talking about realizing that he was gay, but in that case, what went into that battle?</p><p>“And did you? Figure out who you are,” Harry inquired carefully. He didn't mean to intrude, and he definitely didn't want to hear about Malfoy’s teenage sexual exploits. He shuddered at the thought of him living in the same dorm with Crabbe and Goyle… best not to think such thoughts.</p><p>“Eventually, though I must admit there were some horrid turns there,” Malfoy grimaced, still staring at the tulips on the ground a short distance away from where they were sitting. Horrid turns?</p><p>Taking the risk that he would learn a foul detail about a particular Slytherin, Harry couldn’t help his curiosity. “Such as…?”</p><p>“I don’t think we’re there yet, Potter,” came Malfoy’s cold answer. There it was again, as soon as Harry was about to learn a new detail about the man, he got pushed on his arse again. Little by little he was starting to lose faith in anything ever moving forward with him.</p><p>Once again they suffered through a long silence, filled with chirping birds and a car gassing away somewhere in the distance. At this point, Harry had nothing to say. He had now realized that the likelihood of him ever getting anywhere with Malfoy were extremely slim, the git had made that very clear, he just didn’t know why. It was like snapping out of a hypnotic state Harry had been in for the last few weeks; the truth was that Malfoy wasn’t interested in him and that was the bitter end of it. Harry didn't know what he had been thinking, and he immediately felt stupid – he and Malfoy had always been adversaries, and whatever made the man act like he had the past few weeks, Harry had clearly interpreted it wrong, and now wished he’d just shut up about the whole thing earlier. He hoped that the Ministry would finish their search of the Malfoys’ house sooner rather than later, and was relieved when Malfoy checked the time.</p><p>“Bollocks, look at the time, I have to be on my way,” he said hastily, almost jumping up from his chair, but what seemed to be a poor attempt at slipping away. Harry went along with it, he had lost his appetite for the whole affair.</p><p>“Right,” he stood up as well, but there was something he needed to know, no matter how little Malfoy actually cared about him, “one question though, when are you leaving England?” Harry tried to use his most nonchalant voice, but didn't know if it came out as such.</p><p>Malfoy gave him an apprehensive look from behind his fringe that had fallen on his face again. “Funny you should ask that, I’m scheduled to go home in a week,” he brushed the hair away, and rolled his sleeves back down, already starting to take steps towards the house. Harry followed him.</p><p><em>In a week?</em> “So soon,” Harry said, forgetting to sound like he didn't care. Because he did, he cared very much, actually. He didn’t want Malfoy to leave, never mind how pathetic it sounded, but he had gotten used to the git showing up everywhere in his life. Without him Harry was alone again, admittedly it wasn’t the best reason to hold on to someone.</p><p>Malfoy strode through the house, his steps partly muffled by the thick living room carpet. “Just be glad to be rid of me, unlikely that we’ll ever bump into each other again,” he picked his cloak up from the chair he had discarded it on, “unless of course you arrest a member of my family again.” He gave Harry a kind of half-smirk, that ended up just being an awkward twitch in the corner of his mouth, while he swung on the robe in one swift motion.</p><p>“I guess that’s up to them,” Harry replied simply. He couldn’t think of anything more to say, his head felt completely blank. Malfoy was standing in his hallway, dressed to leave, yet Harry did nothing. He did absolutely nothing, and he already knew he would blame himself for it. But, whatever he had intended to do or say, the moment wasn’t right for it.</p><p>“Right, well, thanks for the tea, I will be going,” was the last thing Malfoy said to Harry. One last look was exchanged between the two men, past rivals, present acquaintances, future …? No one knew. There was a certain finality to it that made Harry feel very empty. Then, without so much as a goodbye, Malfoy disappeared through the front door, the faint crack of Disapparition echoing in from outside. Once again, Harry was alone, standing in his hallway, but for the first time, it felt like he had lost something.</p><p>That night when Harry was lying in bed, unable to sleep, he was staring at the ceiling. There were a million questions bouncing around in his brain, preventing him from falling asleep. He just wanted Malfoy to tell him, straight up, what was going on.</p><p>Another, more pressing, matter was that soon enough Malfoy would go home, leaving Harry by himself again. Harry knew it would solve all of his problems, but still, he didn't want that to happen, no matter how maddening the bastard was, Harry didn’t want him to go away. He thought about Malfoy standing in his garden, sleeves rolled up, his fair hair being twirled in the sun by the wind, such an exquisite sight. It made Harry’s breath quicken. He thought about Malfoy in a Durmstrang uniform. He thought back to a week ago when he had shown up to Malfoy’s house. The way the man was dressed, his bicep bulging from under his shirt, his tight trousers… maybe he had been laying in his bed, <em>Malfoy’s </em>bed, maybe his hand might have travelled somewhere unsavoury, maybe Harry could have helped him… lifted his shirt and ran his hand on his bare skin, his sides, his chest, down to his trousers… Malfoy catching his breath… Harry’s hand slowly found its way into his own pants, under the duvet. No one would ever know, it was completely private, he was alone in his bed, under the covers, in the dark. When Harry tried to picture the blond man from his gym, the only thing he could see was Malfoy’s face, his bicep, and he couldn't even be sorry. Various images flashed in Harry’s brain, Malfoy under him squirming, Malfoy naked, Malfoy pushing him against a wall, kissing him fiercely.</p><p>After, Harry thought about how completely, utterly fucked he was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Speaking the Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Monday, when Harry went to work, his mood was gloomy. He felt resigned in a way, like he didn’t have anything to look forward to anymore. No surprise visits, no sweaty palms, no bouts of having his heart beat out of his chest. Life would return to its usual tedious flow, and at the moment, it felt too cruel. Outside the weather matched Harry’s state of mind: grey clouds had covered the sky and a cold drizzle was back to torment London. He would have to take it one day at a time, one hour at a time.</p><p>Harry inspected the permission slips that had once again piled up on his desk, and sent them away one by one after scribbling his signature on them. There seemed to be more with every passing day. A few files had also found themselves on his desk for him to take a look at and provide his professional opinion on. Harry found it strange at least, since he had much less experience than some of the other Aurors asking him for his opinion. Be that as it may, Harry enjoyed thinking about something other than sodding Malfoy walking out on him, so he gladly inspected the binders on his desk. In the corner of his office, Theseus seemed to still be upset at Harry, and didn’t say as much as a ‘Good morning’ upon seeing him entering the office.</p><p>Slightly before noon, things had not started to pick up, and Harry decided to take a stroll to Evergrey’s office to inquire about the progress on the memory potions case. His steps were quiet on the carpeted floor as he walked the Ministry hallways. There were not a lot of people afoot, and only a few interdepartmental memos breezed by him as he was making his way to see Patrick.</p><p>The door to his office was ajar, and Harry placed a polite knock on the doorframe before peering into the room. Evergrey was sitting behind his desk, studying a very large book, reading glasses propped on his long nose. Now he was glancing up from the volume and pushed his glasses on his forehead.</p><p>“Morning Patrick,” Harry announced and stepped into the office. It was smaller than Harry’s, there was no fireplace or armchairs, only a desk with chairs in front of it, and two huge bookcases full of publications and parchments. He was nearly annoyed to see how neatly all of the documents were organized.</p><p>“Harry, hi, good morning,” Patrick closed the massive book with a thud and laid it on his desk, leaning back in his chair, “what brings me the honour?” he grinned teasingly and motioned for Harry to take a seat.</p><p>“Just here to inquire about the case, have they managed to develop an antidote yet?” Harry sat down on the hard chair and peered at the book the man had put down, in golden letters on the brown leather cover it said <em>Magical Criminal Organizations: A Historical Encyclopaedia.</em></p><p>“It’s getting there, according to Jameson at the Department of Mysteries, it’s ready in approximately three days, we just have to hang in there,” Evergrey sighed and lifted his hands to massage his temples. Three days, Harry could wait three days, at least then he’d have something to distract him and he could direct all of his energy into interrogating that bastard Ridgenorth.</p><p>“Good to know,” Harry nodded, “what’s that you were reading?” he gave a meaningful glance at the huge encyclopaedia lying on the desk.</p><p>“That? I was just reading more about the Marigold, but nothing useful yet,” Patrick said and bit the inside of his cheek in thought. Harry couldn’t wait to start interrogating Ridgenorth to find out if he was acting alone, or if in the coming years he would have to battle with a new criminal organization specializing in potions.</p><p>“Right,” Harry just said absentmindedly, “how was your weekend by the way? Good weather.” He cringed internally at how tacky that sounded, he had apparently breezed right through his twenties and thirties straight to being forty-five. Next he was probably going to start talking about the discount coupons for cauldrons that were in the morning’s <em>Prophet.</em></p><p>Evergrey seemed to think along the same lines, but thankfully held his tongue. “Good, went to fly for a bit with the family in the Quidditch pitch outside the city, they open it to the public for a few hours every Saturday, you can rent a broom there so… yeah… how about your weekend?”</p><p>Harry thought he wouldn’t mind being forty-five, going flying with his kids on a sunny spring day. He wouldn’t mind that at all. Evergrey probably didn’t realize how lucky he was. For now, Harry would have to settle for saying “Uneventful,” when asked about his plans. He didn’t want to think about Malfoy’s visit, but at the same time he couldn’t get it out of his mind – how he had talked about his father, and Voldemort making him become a Death Eater, and how the poor git had thought that he would actually have to be the one to kill Dumbledore. Moreover, Harry was quite sure he would never see Malfoy again, and now he just had to get over the whole thing. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sorry about Malfoy leaving, although it didn’t matter, because he was feeling both.</p><p>“Well,” Patrick’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “back to it, I suppose. I’ll let you know when we have the potion.” He gave an affirming smile and a nod at Harry, who stood up from the chair.</p><p>“I suppose so,” he uttered in response, “though I have to admit, if I see one more permission slip on my desk I think I’ll lose it for good,” Harry gave a crooked smile at Patrick, who snickered. He had had to send a couple to Harry himself, too.</p><p>“The elections are still four months away, hang in there, Harry,” Evergrey called out when Harry was already making his way to the door.</p><p>“Cheers,” Harry replied as he walked out of the office. He left the office door open, same way as it had been, and started walking back towards his office. He greeted a few Aurors who walked past him, looking like they had just come back from a mission, with his own go-ahead no doubt even though he didn’t remember half the things he had approved.</p><p>Harry returned to discover Hermione waiting for him in his office. She was sitting in one of the armchairs wearing a Ministry cloak over her robes. Her frizzy hair was in a ponytail and she was staring at the empty fireplace absentmindedly, chewing on her lip. It was important to note that he almost never crossed paths with Hermione at work, so Harry was surprised to say the least. He immediately thought that something had happened. Was it Ron? Molly? Arthur? Not little Rosie…</p><p>Now Hermione turned around at the sound of Harry entering the office. “Hermione, hi, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Harry asked very quickly, closing the door to give them some privacy.</p><p>“Hi Harry, everything’s okay,” Hermione shook her head quickly, giving him a reassuring smile, “sorry if I scared you,” she got up from the chair and went over to give Harry a brief hug, “the fact that you immediately think something’s wrong tells me that we do this all too rarely.”</p><p>Harry hugged her back. “Do what?” he asked suspiciously. If it wasn’t an emergency, why was Hermione in his office? Maybe she had a case for him from the Department of Magical Law, they sometimes consulted Aurors to back up their evidence, or even requested someone to be detained.</p><p>Turned out that Hermione had something else planned entirely. “I thought we could go out for lunch together, just you and me, is that okay?” She asked, and looked at Harry very innocently. <em>Oh</em>, why hadn’t Harry ever thought of that? They could’ve done it a bunch of times! Then he immediately felt a tad silly being so excited about the possibility, like a dog of the opportunity to go for a walk.</p><p>“Yes, sure, let’s,” Harry nodded eagerly and grabbed his own outer robe. He couldn’t help thinking that the rarity of the occurrence held a hidden meaning: why had Hermione proposed this now? Of course, it could very well be a mere coincidence, and Harry preferred that option, so he decided to not think about the matter further.</p><p>“How is madam Ackerman these days?” Harry inquired as they were strolling down the corridor towards the elevators. Lunch hour at the Ministry was always quiet, and they didn't pass anyone in the hallway.</p><p>Hermione sighed and looked to be in search for words as they stepped into the empty elevator and requested the Atrium. “Busy, as am I, though today it’s been slow, we’re still waiting for a large batch of documents from MACUSA to be delivered so that we can get back to work.” MACUSA? Why was the lead defence attorney waiting for documents from the Magical Congress of the United States of America?</p><p>“America?” Harry blurted out in a surprised voice, “What are you doing with them?” As soon as he said it, he felt that it might have been a stupid question to ask. Obviously the British Ministry of Magic cooperated closely with the American Magical Congress.</p><p>Hermione snickered charitably as they stepped into the Atrium and headed towards the visitor entrance leading out onto the street. “Well, Harry, it is called the Department of <em>International</em> Magical Cooperation,” Hermione reminded him, adopting her familiar pedantic tone, “in this case, there are some American citizens being held in Britain that need legal help, and once we get the appropriate paperwork we can start doing what we do best.”</p><p>Harry just nodded in reply, he didn’t know much about the intricacies of Hermione’s work, so he thought best not to go deeper into it, besides, if she wanted to talk about it more, she would have. “Right,” Harry replied simply, “and how are you?”</p><p>Hermione shrugged. “I’m good, not feeling sick all the time anymore so that’s a refreshing development, though now I’m just hungry all the time.” Good thing they were going out to eat then. They now stepped onto the chilly street, it wasn’t windy, but the overcast clouds were persistent in their greyness and the ice-cold drizzle that they produced.</p><p>Harry wrapped his cloak around him tighter as they took a right turn at the entrance. “Speaking of… where do you want to go to eat?” He had to admit that he wasn’t very familiar with the dining options in the area. Or any area for that matter, he rarely went out to eat, maybe he should.</p><p>“The Clarence? It’s pretty close,” Hermione had also lifted the hood of her robes up to protect her from the constant rain. They were walking quite briskly, and Harry hoped that the place would be very near – the weather made him feel more gloomy than he already was. Also, he was cold.</p><p>“Isn’t that a muggle place?” he asked, swerving a person on the crowded sidewalk, trying to not talk too loudly about magical things. They were in the heart of muggle London, after all.</p><p>“Yes, they have great fish and chips,” Hermione said over her shoulder, before returning to navigating amongst the people. There were tourists, businessmen, politicians, regular folk, magical people going to the ministry too, no doubt. It was lunch hour after all, everyone was coming and going.</p><p>“Great,” Harry replied, but he doubted that Hermione could hear him over the traffic and the general commotion that was going on all around them.</p><p>Not five minutes later they reached the place. It was in the corner of a tall red brick building, a little over a block from the Ministry’s visitor entrance. It looked very cosy, flowers placed on its windowsills and on the tiny balconies of the upper floors. Hermione opened the heavy door for Harry, who made his way in, in turn letting Hermione take the lead again. Inside the place was very nice with chandeliers hanging from the tall ceiling, a fire crackling in the furnace, and the room cramped with tables covered by white tablecloths with small flowers placed in tiny vases in each table. The place was packed. It was the perfect refuge from the ghastly weather outside.</p><p>A waiter came to fetch them, and seated the pair near the fireplace, handing them menus. Everything sounded delicious, but Harry knew Hermione was hungry, so he decided to just go for anything she was getting. You can never go wrong with ordering what a hungry pregnant lady was having. Hermione ordered them two portions of fish and chips with side salads and a piece of cake to share, and a hot chocolate for herself. Harry concluded it best not to comment, besides, it all sounded delicious.</p><p>Now Hermione turned to Harry, and crossed her hands on the thick tablecloth. “How are you Harry?” she asked in a very sympathetic voice, a little <em>too</em> sympathetic for it not to sound suspicious… “I saw Patrick the other day and he said you’ve been acting odd, is everything okay?” So Harry’s instincts had been right, Hermione did have an ulterior motive behind her little outing.</p><p>Harry offered his standard response, although he was quite sure it wasn’t going to fly with his childhood friend. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He didn't want to burden anyone with his problems, Hermione probably had ones of her own.</p><p>She gave him a look of disappointment, like she had at least expected Harry to come up with a better lie. “Harry, you know I know you too well to believe that,” she said and raised her eyebrows at him. Harry knew he’d have to come clean. On the other hand, if anyone would understand, it’d be Hermione.</p><p>He gave a defeated sigh. “Fine, but you can’t tell Ron,” he warned. He was already dealing with enough as it was from his own inner turmoil, he didn’t need Ron telling him what he already knew. Ron hated Malfoy, probably more than he hated anybody, except for Lucius, perhaps. He had reason to, too, but for Harry it had always been a battle between the mind and the heart, something his best friend wouldn’t necessarily understand.</p><p>“What is it Harry?” Now Hermione seemed truly worried. She reached over the table to give Harry’s hand a comforting brush. This was exactly why Harry hadn't told her, she always treated her friends’ problems as her own, and as heartfelt as it was, Harry never wanted to burden anybody.</p><p>Harry sighed, and tried to start off with a careful declaration. “I think I’ve met someone,” he said, keeping a steady eye contact with Hermione. In all honesty, even that sounded like a bit of an overstatement, it was more that he was <em>interested </em>in someone. Harry felt a blush creeping on his face, the news was something he’d wanted to happen for a while, but could never had anticipated it would be like this.</p><p>Hermione let out a relieved laugh and removed her hand from the top of Harry’s. “That’s great! Harry, I–“ unfortunately, Harry had to cut her off before she got too excited. He had to deliver the blow at some point.</p><p>“It’s Malfoy.” Harry stated the fact as neutrally as possible.</p><p>The expression on Hermione’s face went from glee to confusion to realization. “Not… not <em>Draco </em>Malfoy?” she asked cautiously. Harry could see from her face that she was holding back something, and was just being polite for Harry’s sake. He wished he could say no. But since he couldn’t, he decided to stay quiet. Hermione’s serious face turned contemplative, and she started to chew her lip again. Harry could almost see her connecting the dots in her mind; she knew Harry had interrogated Malfoy all those weeks ago, but she didn’t know much else.</p><p>“I see,” she said after a minute, “how did it happen?” Now Hermione turned her face to Harry once more, eyes inquisitive. She was taking it surprisingly well, and didn't seem to be completely put off by the idea.</p><p>Harry decided to tell Hermione the whole story. How he had interviewed Malfoy for leads, how Narcissa had been arrested, which had only kickstarted the chain of Malfoy’s appearances in Harry’s life. He even told her what Narcissa had told him about Malfoy’s time at Hogwarts. He mentioned both of the times that Malfoy had showed up to his house with seemingly no reason. The whole time Harry was talking, Hermione was listening intently, and nodding when Harry was describing his distress about the whole thing. He tried his best to convey to his friend how utterly confused he was about the situation. Going over the whole case, Harry was only hearing how naïve he sounded, talking about Malfoy like he was a school crush.</p><p>Just when he was done, their food got served. Even though Harry thought he had lost his appetite, the delicious smells made him take a bite of the mouth-watering dish. He didn't regret it. Hermione attacked hers immediately, though still preserving her table manners, something lost to Ron at times. For a moment, they were eating quietly, sounds of the restaurant filling Harry’s ears so that only halfway through he realized that neither of them had said a thing.</p><p>Finally, Hermione took a gulp of her water and said. “I have to admit, that’s a lot of information to take in,” she tapped her mouth with the cloth napkin gently, and laid it back on her lap. She had returned to looking reflective as she continued to shove fries in her mouth.</p><p>“I know,” Harry said with his mouth full, partly because he didn’t want to stop eating, and partly because there was nothing more to say, really.</p><p>When Hermione had finished her plate and had had a full glass of water to top it off, she once again used her napkin and let out a long sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I just feel so sad that you’ve had to struggle with this all by yourself, Harry,” she said, her voice sounding almost hopeless, “you could’ve come to me.” She was right, and Harry was now blaming himself for not doing so in the first place.</p><p>He ran his fingers through his hair just to have something to do with his hands, since he was no longer eating. “I know, I just… honestly I haven’t got a clue myself of what’s going on,” he had to admit. Why was it so hard to get over the fact that Malfoy was, you know, <em>Malfoy?</em> Harry’s adversary, his mortal enemy, his opponent. Except lately he hadn’t felt so much a rival as a… what? The target of Harry’s projected longing.</p><p>“But you like him?” Hermione snapped Harry out of his desperation with her direct question. She would make a good interrogator, Harry thought. Being a woman of law really suited Hermione, not that she hadn’t always been rational, but working in the Magical Law department had only sharpened her skills.</p><p>“Yes,” Harry confirmed, and as he said it, he realized that it was true. As much as he hated to admit it, he did like Malfoy. He liked him very much.</p><p>“And it seems that he likes you back,” Hermione was rubbing her chin in thought, without realizing the weight of her statement. She thought he liked Harry back? Right about now the whole thing was turning into a teenage drama.</p><p>“You think so?” Harry couldn’t hold back his question.</p><p>“Yes, although I don’t know him that well, at all, really,” Hermione sat up straight in her chair and cleared her throat, “but it seems that he’s trying to get your attention, and the ball is now in your court.” The ball? What ball was she talking about? Did she mean that it was up to Harry to make the next move? Bollocks, he knew he would get horrible advice from Hermione, she was too sensible to ever suggest something as ineffective as ‘just let it go’.</p><p>“How is it in <em>my</em> court!?” Harry insisted. He’d much rather just wait at home for the demanding knock on his door, although he realized that soon it wouldn’t be a possibility anymore. It was four days until Malfoy’s departure, which meant that Harry would really have to get his shit together.</p><p>“Ugh, Harry, can’t you see? He’s taken the first step, coming to you over and over again, you have to meet him in the middle here,” Hermione was making hand movements to demonstrate her points and almost knocked over her glass. Harry could hear from her tone that she was getting frustrated with his passivity about the whole matter.</p><p>“How?” Harry asked hopelessly, he was really not good with this stuff. He was truly astounded that he ever managed to convince Ginny to date him, somehow. It was more her just deciding that it was going to happen, after Harry had been pining after her for months. In conclusion, Harry was bad at dating, and he wished Malfoy had adopted the Ginny Weasley way of doing things.</p><p>“Tell him how you feel,” Hermione said simply, raising her eyebrows in an expression that made it seem oh-so-easy. She lifted her fork and dug it into the large piece of cake she had ordered for the two. Harry noticed that he’d have to stick up for himself if he wanted to get even a piece or two for himself, so he grabbed the small fork and aimed for the part with the most frosting.</p><p>“I can’t do that,” he protested, mouth full of chocolate dough. How the fuck was he supposed to address Malfoy with something like this? The git didn’t react well to most things, how would he reply if Harry just blurted out something like this?</p><p>“And why not?” Hermione inquired, consuming the cake at hyper speed and drinking her hot chocolate to top it off. Chocolate on chocolate, bold choice, perhaps Harry ought to try it after Malfoy had cursed him into next week for approaching him. Was Harry seriously considering doing this?</p><p>“Because… what if he doesn’t like me back?” he anguished, and hated how small his voice sounded. It was like he was back in Hogwarts again, nervous to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.</p><p>Now Hermione put her fork down with a clank and frowned her eyebrows at him. “Harry, you do realize you’ve literally defeated the Dark Lord himself, and you’re worried if a boy likes you?” her voice was a mix of disappointment and amusement.</p><p>“Well you don’t have to put it like that…” What a completely unfair comparison. It was much easier to duel the strongest wizard in existence than to tell someone how you feel about them. At least if you fail at the first one, you just die and don’t have to worry about it anymore. However, if you’re rejected by a love interest, you’re left with that memory until the end of your days.</p><p>Now Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and gave Harry a very final stare. “Look, even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you’ll feel loads better having explored the option than if you’re left to wonder.” Harry hated when she made good points, because they never let him off the hook.</p><p>“Ginny said the exact same thing,” he mentioned, twirling the fork in his hand absentmindedly.</p><p>“You told her before me?” Hermione’s voice intensified in volume, but she quickly composed herself as the waiter came to collect their empty dishes, “Never mind that, she’s right,” she leaned back in her chair, looking unhappy that Harry had confided in Ginny with his secret. It wasn’t his fault! She had been right there, interviewing him about his love life.</p><p>“I guess,” Harry started chewing his lip, mimicking Hermione. There was not much time for him to put it off.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come on, get a grip, what’s the worst that can happen?” To Harry’s misfortune, he had quite the imagination when it came to worst case scenarios. Be that as it may, he would have to pick up the check to make up for this therapy session.</p><p>***</p><p>That night Harry was sitting in front of his small desk in the corner of his bedroom. He had been trying to go to bed early that night, but Hermione’s words had been swirling around in his head, tormenting him, so he had to get up and do <em>something.</em> Something to make his friend’s voice to stop saying <em>Come on, get a grip</em> in his head repeatedly. What could Harry do? He couldn’t show up at Malfoy’s door anymore, it was too late at night for him to pretend that he had something ordinary to talk to him about. After pacing around the room for a few circles, Harry had glanced at his desk and the quill holder sitting on top of it, and had had an idea. He had sat down at the desk and picked up a quill. People wrote about their feelings, didn’t they? That sounded like a much easier solution than going to see the git face to face.</p><p>However, now that Harry was staring at the empty piece of parchment in front of him, he thought it might not have been such a good idea. He didn’t have a way with words, not at all. At least when speaking to someone you could always pretend you didn’t hear them, claim they heard you wrong, or that you were merely joking about that thing that they got offended over. With writing, it was all there, evidence most damning, clearly intended to be read. Minutes went by as Harry tried to compose a coherent note in his head that wouldn't sound too urgent, but that would convey the prevailing time pressure, and a note that wouldn't be too clingy, but not too distant either. Something that would warrant a response.</p><p>Eventually, frustrated, Harry scribbled down <em>I need to speak to you.</em></p><p>Good start, what else? Should he add ‘now’? The matter wasn’t <em>that</em> urgent. A greeting perhaps? No, that would sound foolish. I need to speak <em>with</em>you? Well, Harry really only needed to get his matter out, not consult Malfoy per se. Should he write ‘Malfoy, I need to speak to you’, but which Malfoy was he referring to then? ‘Draco’ would be way over the line. Eventually, Harry just ended up leaving the note as is, only adding his initials at the bottom, even though he knew that Malfoy would most probably know who it was from. At least he hoped.</p><p>Harry got up from the chair, and sat down cross-legged in front of the fireplace. His hands were trembling slightly, and he had to draw a deep breath to steady himself. Was this stupid? Was he being stupid? Just the other day he had been convinced that Malfoy didn't give two trolls’ arse about him, yet here he was, holding a note that had the potential to change many things. Or more accurately, one great big thing. But Harry had to know, he <em>had to know</em>.</p><p>Or just maybe… maybe he didn't have to do it now… he could just visit Malfoy tomorrow at lunch? But Harry knew he wouldn’t, he could never bring himself to do it. Besides, he couldn’t possibly wait until the next day, he was wobbling on his arse as it was, he would never be able to sleep before he had at least done something about the matter. Tried something. Harry felt a hot flash on his bare skin, and a shiver right after that as he was holding the note in his extended arm over the fireplace.</p><p>
  <em>I need to speak to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>HP</em>
</p><p>Right before Harry was going to drop the note into the Floo network to be delivered, he changed his mind. Or more, something in his subconscious did. It was like a reflex, with no rationale behind it, just an intuitive retraction of his limb. As he promptly pulled his hand back, the note slipped from his grip and fell into the fireplace, a green flame eating it neatly. Bollocks.</p><p>No turning back now. Had Harry thought of Malfoy when the note fell into the fire? If not, then there was nothing to worry about; unaddressed mail was spat out, and now Harry was staring at the empty fireplace intently. Nothing. Seconds went by, and nothing. So, the note had gone through, shit, shit shit shit. Maybe Harry had accidentally thought about his office, or the Weasley’s house instead of Malfoy? Harry would have no such luck.</p><p>He stood up, unable to remove his eyes from the fireplace. Malfoy could respond at any moment, if he indeed had received the message. What would his response say? ‘Don’t think so’, ‘Too late’, ‘Fuck off’? Or perhaps, most gruesomely, no response. That’s what Harry would do if he was in Malfoy’s shoes and wanted to get rid of an annoying nuisance pestering him with notes at 11pm, although admittedly he hated that option the most. To not matter even the amount of a tiny note. But Malfoy wasn’t like that, he always had to have the last word.</p><p>Minutes went by, and Harry was pacing around his bedroom again, waiting for a note to fly onto his bed. As seconds passed, he became more convinced that he wouldn’t hear back. What if the note hadn’t gone to the Malfoy residence? What if Harry assumed that the man didn’t care enough about him to reply, but in fact he never got the note? Maybe Narcissa had gotten it? Thrown it away? Or maybe they were asleep, or away from home, or… maybe Harry should write another note that he would clearly address to Malfoy? No, what if he received the first one and then would get the other one straight after? No, no, no.</p><p>Before Harry began spiralling any further, there was a giant green flame in the fireplace, nearly making him jump out of his pyjama bottoms. His pulse didn’t slow down after, as he heard, “For Salazar’s sakes, why the fuck have you connected a fireplace this small to the bloody Floo network?” Harry took a step back when Malfoy climbed out of the flame, having to bow his head considerably to fit out if it, the tall git.</p><p>“Sorry,” Harry uttered, not knowing what to say, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that the man would actually physically come to see him, “er… there’s a bigger one downstairs, this one’s meant more for correspondence,” he stammered. Harry hadn’t counted on Malfoy’s flare for drama, but he realized he should have. The man was wearing his usual black slacks, but no shoes, and a thin white pullover. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Malfoy wear any actual colours, and apparently, he didn't start when at home.</p><p>“Correspondence like this?” the man said amusedly, holding up Harry’s note, burnt from the edges. Then he took an interested look around the room, “Harry Potter’s bedroom, I must be in every girl’s wet dream from ten years ago,” he raised his eyebrows challengingly, with a smirk flickering in the corner of his mouth. Now he was just shamelessly eyeing Harry’s shirtless body; mind you, he had been to the gym earlier that evening.</p><p>Still, Harry felt uncomfortable, and grabbed the nearest shirt from the back of a chair. It was an old tee from Auror training, an ugly grey colour with yellow seams and a yellow Ministry logo that was peeling off from the corners. The shirt nicely contrasted his blue and white pyjama pants, making him look like he was covered in Gargoyle vomit. How stylish.</p><p>“So, what did you want to chat about?” Malfoy said horribly casually, and plopped down to sit on Harry’s bed, crossing his legs and giving a teasingly curious look at Harry. He was wearing striped socks, and to Harry, the entire situation was too surreal to comprehend – every time he saw Malfoy he noticed something new, sometimes he had on trousers that were too tight, others he merely rolled up his sleeves to taunt Harry, and that evening he was wearing striped socks.</p><p>“Well, er, I actually sent that by accident,” Harry had to admit and proceeded to scratch the back of his head awkwardly. Well, he sent it semi-accidentally, he had backed down at the last minute, to avoid… well, this.</p><p>Malfoy gave Harry an evaluative look, lifting his chin and scanning him up and down. “But you wrote it?” he raised his eyebrows again, questioningly. Harry had been right about the treacherous nature of letters, they were too exposing, for fuck’s sake. He felt his palms starting to sweat again, it was too warm in the room.</p><p>Now Harry was squirming slightly, standing next to his bed. He should have at least sent the note from his living room, for them to have this talk in his bedroom was much too intimate. “Well, yes, er–“ he decided to sit down on the bed as well, and Malfoy moved to give him space, or to get away from him. His pullover brought out how tan he was from the neck, and Harry had trouble shifting his gaze away from the sight.</p><p>“Then what is it?” the git insisted, he seemed so determined to find out why Harry had sent the note. Why were they both so adamant to get the other one to reveal something? Perhaps because they were both too cowardly to say something themselves.</p><p>“I think you’re not going to answer it,” Harry said, truthfully. He knew that the brick wall was looming up ahead, the one that always pushed him on his arse. Malfoy had avoided all questions nearing the subject with care, and Harry was disbelieving that the git would suddenly change his approach.</p><p>Malfoy looked at the fireplace for a moment, looking in thought, like he was trying to decide something for himself, and then turned to Harry again. “Try me, I’m in a good mood today,” he declared. Malfoy in a good mood? This was a rare occurrence Harry had never encountered. Why was the man in a good mood? Because he was leaving? Maybe Harry had caught him in the middle of packing.</p><p>Be that as it may, he wouldn’t be happy for long. Not when he heard what Harry had to say. He took a quick breath and decided to just go for it. Fuck it, Hermione and Ginny were right, what’s the worst that could happen? “What’s going on here?” he asked, carefully monitoring Malfoy’s face for sudden changes. They didn’t happen.</p><p>“What do you mean?” the git replied, furrowing his eyebrows together, forcing Harry to elaborate. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why couldn’t he just magically understand what Harry was trying to say? They were wizards the both of them! Learn some bloody Legilimency for fuck’s sakes.</p><p>Now Harry was struggling over a way he could put the matter without it giving him more nightmares. “You showing up to my house, me showing up to your house…” he tried desperately to expand the subject with a discreet example of them both acting… odd.</p><p>“Nothing criminal with showing up to someone’s house,” Malfoy shrugged casually, “besides, I thought you were on Ministry business that time,” he narrowed his eyes and eyed Harry suspiciously – the way you look at someone who swears they didn’t eat your piece of pie while you were gone, but there is only one suspect and it’s them. And Harry was the culprit.</p><p>Now he got flustered by the question and ran his fingers through his hair to… what? Make it seem less bushy? A hopeless undertaking. He picked up a pillow from the bed to hold so that his hands wouldn't be continuously fidgeting, giving away his agitation. “Well, I was. It’s just… it’s not customary for the Head Auror to visit people’s houses personally, delivering messages,” now he was fidgeting with the pillow instead, rolling its corner in and out.</p><p>Malfoy looked at the motion attentively, Harry knew that Malfoy knew that he was nervous. “Right, so… you were there for… me?” the man caught on quickly, but seemed to cringe a bit saying it. That did seem to be the implication that Harry was trying to get across. Now the man also swiped his hair off of his face and changed the positioning of his legs to dangle the other one off the bed.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Harry confessed. Well, it wasn’t as much a confession as a general question – if Malfoy had been at Harry’s door to see him, then Harry had been at Malfoy’s door doing the same. If not, then he would say he didn’t know why he had been there.</p><p>Malfoy snorted, visibly irked. “Brilliant, you’re handling this very smoothly, if I may say so,” the mocking tone in his voice had made a return, and it proceeded to make Harry feel even more like a complete tit than he was already feeling.</p><p>“Oh, leave it, I’m doing the best that I can,” he retorted snappily, trying to defend himself. At least he was trying, Malfoy had never gotten this far, and now the git had the sheer gall to give feedback on Harry’s performance in the matter?</p><p>It was silent for a few seconds, only the sound of a clock on the wall ticking away, before Malfoy quietly uttered, “Me too.” It sounded like a confession. He wasn’t looking at Harry anymore, instead, it looked like he was avoiding his gaze, his eyes traveling around the room, scanning the fireplace, the desk, the closet, the bedding. Was he… <em>nervous?</em></p><p>Malfoy was trying his best to… what? To tell Harry? Or not tell Harry? Also: <em>tell Harry what???</em> “So, there’s something happening here then?” Harry continued, heart hammering out of his chest, only waiting for Malfoy to crack under the pressure and finally spill his guts. In a way, it worked: the man directed his stare back to Harry, looking at him challengingly. By now, Harry was tired of challenge, he had had enough of them.</p><p>Then came an answer Harry could never have predicted. “If there was, it won’t be for long, I’m leaving the country remember?” there was bitterness in Malfoy’s voice as he stood up from the bed, but then just remained standing, there, in Harry’s bedroom, eyeing him suspiciously. Had he just admitted that all this time, it wasn’t just in Harry’s head? There had really been <em>something</em>. Had there been something before? All those years ago? Was Narcissa right predicting that Malfoy did not only hate Harry?</p><p>But there was another point in what the git had just said, he was leaving in a few days, and Harry had to confess something. “That’s kind of why I’m forcing myself to do this now,” he uttered quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t be heard. In any case, he was too much of a wimp to do this any other day.</p><p>Now Malfoy’s face scrunched up in distaste. “Forcing? How sexy of you, Potter,” he spat out, perhaps attempting to be teasing, but there was no trace of glee in his voice. Now he gave Harry a cold look before he swiftly walked out of the room and started heading towards the stairs. His socked feet made no sound in the hallway.</p><p>Sexy? Harry wasn’t trying to be sexy, he just wanted to know the truth. Was Malfoy expecting Harry to be waiting for him, rose petals on his bed… <em>did </em>Malfoy want Harry to be sexy? He would be quite disappointed, because Harry had no idea how, if he ever got that far. Now Harry jumped up from the bed and followed after Malfoy. The hallway was unlit, because Harry had already gone to bed once that night, and he only saw the man’s silhouette going down the stairs, white hair catching whatever light was gently seeping in from the windows.</p><p>Harry stopped at the top of the stairs, looking at Malfoy, or more accurately, the back of his head. “So you fancy me then?” Harry voiced hesitantly, he couldn’t believe the situation, the words that were coming out of his mouth, he had to squeeze the railing to stop his hand from shaking. Now Malfoy jerked his head up to look back at him, he had stopped in his tracks to stand midway down the stairs, and despite not seeing anything in the dark, Harry could almost hear him scowling.</p><p>It was quiet for a moment, before Malfoy’s voice could be heard. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here–“ he started, but Harry wasn’t having it anymore.</p><p>“Do you?” he pressed, a little too loudly, frustration could be heard from his voice.</p><p>There was a sound of clothes shuffling, and Harry saw Malfoy’s silhouette shrugging below him. He still wasn’t moving, he was just standing there, arms to his sides. “I wouldn’t go as far as <em>fancy</em>,” his hair shifting in the dark room, which signalled Harry that he man was looking up at him again. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t got the faintest clue of what’s going on,” his voice was low.</p><p>Now Harry took a breath and started descending the stairs to approach Malfoy, his heart was beating fast, he knew that there was a solid possibility that he would do something that he would most definitely regret should it not work out. “Me neither,” he confessed quietly, and stopped on the same step Malfoy was standing on. They were so close, Harry had never been that close to him before, it was intoxicating, but in the best way describable. He was glad it was dark, he could not have done any of this in the harsh light of day.</p><p>Harry thought about reaching out to Malfoy. How would he react? Would he storm away, or would he push him against the wall fiercely? How Harry hoped for the latter. He wanted to kiss Malfoy. More than ever before. The dark wrapped the two of them in a silent curtain of intimacy, a moment where anything could happen, if one would only gather their courage. And Harry was gathering his courage to follow his new urge. At any moment now, he would take the step needed to reach the man, to gently kiss his tan neck, to feel his warmth, to feel his hot breath in his ear. Harry wanted to let himself go, for the first time in a very long time. He felt that Draco’s severity could bring something alive in him, something raw, something personal. It was just a matter of one move, one touch, to make it all happen.</p><p>Harry was sure Draco felt the same, if he would just make the first move… make it now, <em>now</em>, <em>NOW!</em> Just as Harry was about to lift his arm, Malfoy popped the bubble, his voice dispassionate. “Well, I guess we’re on the same page then,” he said, and, in a whisk, strode down the stairs, leaving Harry to stand there alone. The moment was, once again, gone.</p><p>“I guess we are,” Harry echoed and shuffled after the man into the living room, once more given up on his attempt to get closer to Malfoy. Even when he confessed to having feelings for Harry, he had clearly made up his mind to drop the matter, and there was little for Harry to do.</p><p>“Good night, Potter,” Malfoy said while approaching the fireplace, his back turned to Harry. The moment seemed too abrupt, a minute ago they had still been sitting on Harry’s bed, talking. Only seconds ago Harry was sure the night would take a different turn entirely.</p><p>“Wait, hold on,” Harry demanded sternly, “you’re just going to piss off?” To be fair, that was what the bloody git did best. Any time things got mildly serious, he just fucked off to wherever. What a classy fucking move.</p><p>Malfoy shrugged, not even looking at Harry, the coward. “Pretty much, yeah,” he said and turned around to face Harry. What an unbelievable tosspot he was. An arrogant fucker, who Harry still wanted to snog, who he still wanted to pin him down, and if he were to do that right now, Harry would let him, even after what he had done, even after everything.</p><p>Harry nodded, he was angry. He didn’t know what he had expected, but this was not it. He thought that maybe Malfoy would reject him, make fun of him, and then fuck off. He never imagined that Malfoy would <em>admit</em> to anything, and then just leave, just leave. Fuck right off like the bloody hero he was. “Right,” Harry said coldly, “goodbye then, <em>Draco</em>.” Harry blamed himself for not making a move earlier, and he blamed Malfoy for being a cowardly sod.</p><p>The blond man gave him a one last glance, something hiding behind his eyes, a dark fire. A determined look someone gets when they have decided to do something bold. He stood there for a few seconds too long, and just when Harry thought he had changed his mind, and was going to… do <em>something</em>, he replied, “Goodbye, <em>Harry</em>.”</p><p>And just like that, a green flame sent him off.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Exoneration of Narcissa Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Evergrey slammed his fist on the table, and the loud sound was magnified in the austere room. “We know about your grandfather, and the Marigold, now tell us… <em>were you working alone?</em>” his voice was frustrated and demanding. Patrick’s hair was dishevelled and he had opened the first few buttons of his work robes. He was pacing back and forth in front of the table, behind which Ridgenorth was sitting, with a shit-eating grin on his face.</p><p>Patrick and Harry had been at it for hours, and Ridgenorth was not cracking. Instead, the bastard had been taunting them with sarcastic quips, and giving them the silent treatment. He was sitting in the hard metal chair, his previously neat garments changed into the jail robes with the Ministry logo on their back. His dark silvery hair was greasy and partially covered his face, but he seemed as cheerful as ever. Perhaps because he knew he was making this unnecessarily hard for the two Aurors.</p><p>On Thursday morning Harry had arrived to work to find out that in the early hours of the night, the Department of Mysteries had managed to finish and bottle the antidote to the memory potion. The Aurors working nightshift had fetched Ridgenorth from his cell and thrown him into an interrogation room, giving him the potion, which would take a few hours to take effect. They had chained him up to the chair, and when Harry and Patrick arrived to interrogate him, they found him pissed off that his plan hadn’t worked.</p><p>Apparently, he had thought that they’d just throw him in Azkaban, where he could spend enough time for the potion to wear out, and by that time, his sentence would be nearing its end. Granted, it didn’t seem like he had put a lot of thought into it. Alas, he found himself in the Ministry, a mere couple weeks later, chained up to a chair, being interrogated for his crimes that warranted a sentence he would have to go through completely conscious.</p><p>Now the bastard was smirking up at Patrick. “Since you know so much about my dear pap Irving, surely you have already figured out whether I’m a lone wolf or not,” he said with an insufferably confident shine in his eyes. He turned his head to look at Harry, who was monitoring the situation from the corner of the room, arms crossed, silent. “How did you find me anyway?” Dargan inquired curiously, “Did that bitch Dubois give me away?” Harry hated how casually the man insulted his former partner.</p><p>Patrick straightened his posture. “Actually, she said that the source was Narcissa Malfoy,” he stated reluctantly. It had gone like this the whole time, Harry wasn’t sure who was interviewing who in the situation. Dargan was chained up to the chair, but was still dominating the course of the discussion, Patrick attempting to regain his authority. Harry saw a drop of sweat appear on his partner’s temple, the low room was becoming warm, what with Patrick pacing it back and forth constantly. Otherwise there was nothing there, only a table and a chair, and three men, each fighting their own battle.</p><p>Now Ridgenorth’s face turned from curious to victorious. “Ha! Of course, it <em>is</em> her, she’s behind everything, she used the Imperius Curse on me, I swear!” The man’s tone was almost mocking, he was clearly trying to fuck with them. His lack of seriousness really irked Harry’s nerve, who was not in the mood for dancing around one another, he had done that enough with you-know-who (Malfoy). What he really wanted was to get to the bottom of the matter, but it seemed that the harder they pressed, the more difficult it was to get answers out of the man.</p><p>Now Harry spoke, for the first time after quickly introducing himself and Patrick when they came in. Of course, Ridgenorth already knew who he was, but there was no telling what the memory potion had done to his mind. “We know that’s a lie, you and Dubois framed her, isn’t that right?” Harry strolled to take Patrick’s place in front of the interrogation table, while his partner retreated to where he had been standing and observing.</p><p>“Why does it matter? I’m going to Azkaban anyway,” behind the cocky façade, Harry could hear desperation in the suspect’s voice. For the first time, he felt like he might be able to lure out the truth, like trying to get a stubborn clam to open, slowly but surely. He had found the weakness, Dargan was afraid of going to Azkaban, and now Harry just needed to pull on that thread, play his cards right.</p><p>“That you are,” Harry admitted, “but the length of your sentence depends entirely on your next words, so what’s it going to be?” He put his palms on the table and leaned in towards Ridgenorth, in whose eyes he could see a quiver of dread, concealed by a self-assured exterior. Harry was sure he had him.</p><p>Ridgenorth was quiet for a while, before he spat out, “My next words? Fuck you.” The man started chuckling, leaning back in his chair, his laugh growing with each passing breath he took. The clam had snapped itself close tighter than ever.</p><p>“Lovely,” Harry observed the event with distaste, “Patrick, can you spare a minute?” he continued, giving a look in the corner. Evergrey was also looking at Ridgenorth’s howling with an expression that carried a resemblance most closely with a person finding something rotten in their cupboard. Now he turned his attention to Harry, and shook his head ‘why not?’, while following Harry outside the room.</p><p>The corridor was quiet, only a few Aurors passing by from time to time, their footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor. Patrick started immediately, “The guy is impossible! He is dodging everything I throw at him, bloody cocky bastard,” he hissed, maybe to prevent Ridgenorth from hearing, or perhaps he didn’t want any other Auror to hear how miserably the pair was doing at a standard interrogation. They were supposed to be professionals for Merlin’s sakes.</p><p>The man was making a fair point. Every time they started getting close to the real subject, Ridgenorth eluded it by changing the topic or by ridiculing them. “Reminds me of someone else I know…” Harry thought out loud while stroking his chin, and then he had a thought: avoiding the subject, arrogant manner… there was one other thing in that list that could perhaps be his downfall, should Ridgenorth have the same trait. “Hold on, I think I’ve got it, follow me,” Harry motioned for Patrick to accompany him back into the interrogation room.</p><p>Patrick stayed near the door to monitor what was about to go down. Harry crossed his arms on his chest, and gave a convincing shake of his head, “Alright, Dargan, I must admit, I am quite envious… of how Dame Fortune has been on your side this whole time.” Harry really hoped this would work, he started to miss doing paperwork, he didn't even know that was possible.</p><p>“What d’you mean, Dame Fortune?” Dargan caught the bait beautifully, Harry had been right, and now he just had to bring it home. He started pacing in front of the table, not frustrated, but casually.</p><p>“Well, first of all, you were lucky that Gunther Ivanovski didn’t remember your name when we interrogated him,” Harry started, “you were lucky that Narcissa Malfoy was released from Azkaban just in time for you to frame her with Dubois, then, when you managed to escape from that muggle neighbourhood, a stroke of luck again,” Harry listed, he knew he was pressing Ridgenorth’s buttons, “How fortunate that the Marigold had your back after all these years, isn’t it… Dargan?” Harry didn’t stop pacing so as to not give the man any more reason to be suspicious.</p><p>“<em>Luck!?</em> I had no such thing as luck!” Dargan said angrily, breaking his mocking front for the first time, “It was all me, the whole plan wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for my design! Do you really think that that moth-eaten <em>club</em> helped me in the slightest? Because they didn’t!” the man was clearly only revving up for more, “That Malfoy bitch didn't happen to just be there, you pitiful twits, <em>I</em> planned everything around her being released, so that she’d be sent back to Azkaban where she belongs!” Dargan was practically foaming at the mouth at this point, “As for my distributers, I made sure my identity was concealed, so don’t you <em>dare</em> say that I <em>got lucky.</em>” Now he finally took a breath, and sank down on his seat to unwind.</p><p>Harry gave him a very polite smile in return. “Thank you, that was just what I needed to hear,” he turned to his partner, who gave him an impressed nod, “Patrick?”</p><p>“Yes, Harry?” Patrick adopted a very honeyed tone, straightening himself and taking a glance at Ridgenorth, who clearly only now realized the gravity of his little outburst.</p><p>“Would you care to arrange the paperwork for Mr Ridgenorth here to be sent to Azkaban to wait for trial?” Harry asked in his most cordial voice, while striding towards the door, and opening it for Patrick to go through.</p><p>“It would be my pleasure,” Evergrey replied, matching Harry’s tone, while the pair exited the interrogation room.</p><p>***</p><p>Late Friday afternoon, there was a knock on Harry’s door. An all too familiar one, sharp, demanding, it echoed throughout the house. Harry had just stepped out of the shower after going to the gym, and was now trying to frantically dry his hair with a large towel which he then discarded on the bathroom floor. He was frantically going through the havoc that was his bedroom in search for something to wear. In a hurry, he just threw on the sweatpants he realized were still too tight, and a plain white tee. Just when he all but rushed out of his bedroom and down the stairs, there was another bout of knocks on his door.<em> Hold on, hold on, hold oooonnn</em>, he muttered while almost flying over the last steps into the hallway. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror in passing: his damp hair was pointing in every direction possible, and his cheeks were still pink from the hot water. Bollocks.</p><p>Upon answering the door, Malfoy seemed almost taken aback by Harry’s disordered appearance, his eyes widening for a millisecond, and his lips parting slightly, but he composed himself quickly, his expression hardening. It was probably important to note that Malfoy was rather awkwardly holding a potted plant in his hands. This must have been the second or the third time the git had appeared at Harry’s place after announcing that they’d never see each other again. Despite his indifferent manner, Harry now knew why Malfoy was there, although the plant did confuse him, and Harry was glad he was there; he didn’t want to leave things how they had been a few days ago, when he was angry at Malfoy.</p><p>“Potter,” the man announced like it was a greeting, “always so stylish, I’m starting to think you never looked better in school either.” His face was expressionless as he said it. Harry thought that Malfoy might have been right, he never really paid attention to what he looked like back in school, but it was still an oddly specific insult to make, he wondered if Malfoy had been watching him back then.</p><p>Harry gave a patient sigh and looked at the man up and down, he was looking as shipshape as always, although he was holding the flowerpot like it was a Mandrake – as upon falling from his hands and breaking, the air would be filled with its deathly screams. Harry really hoped it wasn’t a Mandrake. “Well, if you would let me know when you were arriving, <em>Malfoy</em>, maybe for once I would be ready,” he said, teasingly, directing his attention from the plant to the man. Lately he had been starting to enjoy their little back and forth, but this time, his partner wasn’t having it.</p><p>Malfoy’s neutral expression turned into a scowl as he talked. “It doesn’t matter, I assure you this will be my last visit.” He looked unhappy, but Harry wasn’t sure if it was because he had to visit Harry one more time, or because soon he couldn’t visit Harry anymore. He hoped for the latter, although it seemed to be the former.</p><p>“Right, how can I help you?” Harry nodded and asked very formally, apparently, they were both just going to pretend that they hadn’t vaguely confessed their feelings to each other only a few days ago. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but it was better than to part as adversaries once again.</p><p>“My mother sent you this, as a thank you,” Malfoy handed the plant to Harry rather gracelessly. It may have been silly, but Harry hoped that their fingers would even brush on each other upon sharing the grip of the pot for a moment. They did not. Harry hadn’t had the opportunity to touch Malfoy once since this whole thing had started, and all he wanted was something to remember him by when he had gone. “It’s a Dittany, a healing herb, you can ask Longbottom about it, or buy a book, or something,” Malfoy seemed very uncomfortable in the situation, and once he got the plant out of his hands, he kind of just dropped his arms to the side.</p><p>“Tell her I said thanks,” Harry tried smiling at him carefully, but Malfoy wasn’t looking at him. Now Harry was holding the plant and understood the awkwardness the man had been demonstrating; the pot was surprisingly heavy, and an uncomfortable shape to hold.</p><p>“Will do. She also sent you this,” Malfoy reached in his inner pocket, and fished out a sealed white envelope, handing it to Harry, who tried to balance holding the plant with one arm and reaching for the letter with the other, “don’t worry, I haven’t read it, whatever soppy drivel it contains I care not to know.” Malfoy frowned at the letter now in Harry’s hands.</p><p>“Right, cheers,” Harry decided to put down the plant so that he wouldn’t have to hold it any longer, “Do you want to come in?” he asked over his shoulder as he walked over to an empty side table standing against the stairs, and set the Dittany on its dark surface, quickly slipping the letter in the top drawer.</p><p>“If I must,” Malfoy said grudgingly and walked over the threshold, closing the door behind him. Once again, they were standing in Harry’s hallway, just the two of them. The silence was deafening in Harry’s ears as the two men were measuring each other with their eyes. It was completely private, whatever would be said would stay in the room; perhaps it was the privacy of the situation that was so tempting and intimidating.</p><p>Harry cleared his throat to say something, anything, to break the silence. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow?” he already knew he was going to hear it for that question, the git never let him off the hook.</p><p>“What an astute observation on your part, Potter,” Malfoy said, but his voice was lacking its usual edge. The man was standing awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, a few steps away from Harry, seemingly trying to avoid sharing a look. Instead, he was staring at the rug that he was standing on.</p><p>Harry decided to ignore the biting comment, he didn’t want to part ways like this, bickering. If he was being honest, he was thinking about a very specific way. If they indeed had to say goodbye, at least they could do it properly. Harry was trying to get rid of his intrusive thoughts, and keep the conversation going. He needed to tread carefully if he didn’t want to scare the man away. “What time?” he asked, trying to keep his tone distant, like he was just trying to make small-talk.</p><p>“Morning,” Malfoy answered vaguely, and gave Harry a suspicious glance, maybe he was onto his plot, or maybe he was unbelieving that Harry was actually that interested in his schedule. His hair was turned golden by the evening sunlight shining through the window above the door, giving him a brilliant glow. Harry was sure he would never be tired of looking at Malfoy, it seemed that he looked different every time they saw each other nowadays.</p><p>“Are you happy to leave?” Harry had to shake himself out of his thoughts again, and tried to feel out Malfoy’s mood. The man had been scowling the entire time they had been talking, and Harry couldn’t figure out why, so now he carefully tried seeing if it was because he was going away. He himself was feeling very empty, there was a sense of finality in the air that he despised. Harry wished that everything would go back to normal; that Malfoy had never appeared in his office, or that he wouldn’t have to leave. Even being in a never ending back and forth with the git was better than this, an unbearable atmosphere of simultaneous urgency and stagnation.</p><p>“I’m happy to go home,” Malfoy replied dryly, and didn’t seem like he was going to continue. At this point, Harry was holding on to his every word, soaking in the man’s presence like he could somehow store it. He didn’t want the moment to ever end, but at the same time, he wanted to already be done with the endless goodbyes the two had shared and start processing the matter alone.</p><p>“I thought England was your home,” Harry said very quietly, he had pretty much given up on any plan that he had been devising to get Malfoy to… to do <em>something</em>. The inevitableness of the situation made it impossible for him to focus on anything, on acting normal. He noticed that he was mimicking Malfoy’s position, standing there with his arms on his sides, and he felt surrendered. Surrendered to the circumstance.</p><p>“It hasn’t been that for a long while,” Malfoy sighed, his voice also low, and he still wasn’t looking at Harry. Understandably so, he had lived away from Britain for almost a decade, anyone would feel distant from their home country after that long, but it seemed that the man had taken his roots with him. He wasn’t missing England.</p><p>“So you’re happy to leave then?” Harry inquired. He hadn't meant to sound like he was interrogating the man, he was just presenting an honest question, to which he wished to receive an honest answer. He started to feel calmer noticing that Malfoy was engaging in conversation, and didn’t have one foot out the door anymore.</p><p>“Not exactly,” the man muttered, and looked even unhappier than before, if possible. His eyes had gone darker and the corner of his mouth was twitching.</p><p>“Not exactly?” Harry echoed.</p><p>Malfoy cleared his throat. “There are certain things I wish I could bring with me,” the man asserted, and the look he gave Harry while saying it sent a powerful shiver down his spine. Did he mean he wished he could bring <em>Harry</em> with him to Italy? Surely he wasn’t capable of such sentimentality…</p><p>“Clearly you mean the lovely weather,” Harry chuckled stiffly, inferring to the rain that had taken over London the past few days, and had been prevalent nearly the whole springtime. He tried to divert his attention, in case he had misunderstood Malfoy’s implication.</p><p>“I won’t miss the weather, that’s for damn sure,” the man scoffed, and seemed irritated that Harry hadn't caught on to his little insinuation.</p><p>Harry decided to play along. “What will you miss?” he inquired, and right about now wished that he had something to fiddle with, a counter or a wall to lean on, and not stand in the middle of the hallway like a bloody wanker. On the other hand, his conversational partner looked just about as uncomfortable as he was.</p><p>“You know very well what I mean,” Malfoy huffed, and was now looking at Harry defiantly, like he was ready to duel him over… what? On who would be able to dodge more questions until the other had to come out with it. Harry’s heart started beating faster, he felt the moment approaching, there was something there, in the air between them.</p><p>“Do I?” Harry’s voice got choked up in his throat, and the words came out as quiet as a whisper, he had to take a quiet gasp in case he forgot to breathe, “You know, I would really appreciate hearing it from you,” he continued. Finally, they were communicating clearly, without vague statements, not dancing around each other. Harry wanted to hear what had been in Malfoy’s mind for the past weeks, and the opportunity for that could not be clearer. But Harry was once again let down.</p><p>“You’ve chosen the wrong man for that,” Malfoy replied simply, without a hint of daring in his eyes. No evidence that he ever even thought about being honest about the situation, about his feelings. It was the last night before he left for Merlin’s sakes, and Harry had already admitted to feeling the same way, what was the problem here? Besides…</p><p>“I don’t think either of us chose to be in this situation,” Harry pointed out. He hadn’t <em>chosen</em> for Malfoy to be his… dance partner at this point, and anything else beyond that point. None of it was in Harry’s control, he had wanted to get rid of Malfoy from the start, but he would have never guessed the cost at which his wish would come true.</p><p>“I suppose you’re right,” the man nodded, and the terminality of that sentence made Harry’s heart race again, his palms turning sweaty, his stomach turning every which way, making him nauseous. Was this it? Was this when Malfoy would say ‘goodbye, Potter’ and piss off from his life forever? Just the thought of that sent panic rushing through Harry’s veins.</p><p>“I wish you would have said something,” he said, a little too loudly. He was not ready to let the moment go, he wanted to prolong it, do anything he could to make it last a little bit longer, talk to Malfoy a little bit more, be honest for once. Because honesty was the only thing that he had left.</p><p>“I know,” Malfoy replied, his response quiet but immediate, Harry realized that he wasn’t the only one feeling the finality of the moment, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” Whereas Harry wanted to drag out the time, Malfoy had decided to end their torment, coldly but mercifully. Leaving now meant that they could both start processing the past weeks quicker, to get over them faster.</p><p>The man shot a long look at Harry, an apathetic look, the look of someone who has given up. He measured Harry’s face with his eyes, and slowly turned around. His steps were muffled by the hallway rug, and the only sound heard was the front door’s lock, clicking when opened, too cheerful for the event. Harry’s heart was racing, he took one reflexive step forward, towards the man’s back. His arm was twitching in what was a battle between his heart and his brain to reach out. The hinges of the door squeaked most gently when Malfoy opened the door. The evening sun was shining low, making his shadow long, extending over Harry, who was now fighting his innermost instinct to never put himself at any risk again, physical or emotional. If he had a little more time…</p><p>“Wait.” Harry heard his own voice in his head like it was someone else who had just spoken the word, something in him was fighting back. Should he say something more? <em>Don’t go </em>seemed redundant and naïve, two things he didn’t want to be tonight, he didn’t want Malfoy to remember him like that. The blond man froze on his tracks, and turned to face Harry, his face unreadable.</p><p>In a few quick steps Harry was standing in front of Malfoy, who was motionless in where he was standing, looking almost petrified, though his eyes followed Harry’s every move. Harry wasn’t sure how to approach the matter, he had only had a general idea. Now he took one last step into Malfoy’s personal space, feeling his body heat on him, wanting to do everything, to kiss his neck, take off his clothes, push him against the wall. But Harry didn’t do any of that, he didn’t have the courage. Instead, he leaned in, and placed the most gentle kiss on Malfoy’s upper lip. It was soft, and warm, and everything and nothing like Harry had imagined it. He lingered in the kiss for a few seconds too long, before taking a careful step back, head buzzing. Malfoy hadn’t moved, and he wasn’t looking at Harry anymore. Harry felt a hot flush rising on his face, but Malfoy did not seem to have a response. Now his mouth moved, but the voice that came out was so quiet that Harry couldn’t make out the words. It might have been <em>I’m sorry, </em>but there was no way of telling. Then, without giving another glance in Harry’s way, he turned and closed the door behind him.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry was stuck between being awake and being asleep. Every time he thought he was awake, a deep slumber pulled him back under, and every time he thought he was falling asleep, he realized he was awake. Tossing and turning in his bed, he couldn’t find a good position to sleep in, and he was sweating when under the comforter, and shivering without it. A cold sweat was making him clammy as he struggled to fall asleep and wake up at the same time. The steady hum of rain outside infiltrated his uneven slumber.</p><p>He had been lying in his bed, waiting to fall asleep for hours after Malfoy had gone. His thoughts were out of his control, and tormented him way past midnight. Why was Malfoy acting like this? He had admitted to having feelings for Harry, but when Harry had finally, after too many attempts, made his move, he hadn’t gotten a reaction back, not a thing. He thought that maybe, just maybe, the man would kiss him back with the ferocity Harry knew he had, or, push him away and throw a curse at him, but he did neither. Harry wasn’t sure if he would rather live with knowing that he hadn’t tried anything, but if he had, then maybe Malfoy would have felt the same way. Now he was stuck knowing that he had tried it all, but it still hadn’t been enough.</p><p>What was Malfoy afraid of? Harry was just as vulnerable in the situation than he was. What held him back on letting his guard down just once, for Harry to sneak in? Was it that his dad had always been such a stone-cold bastard that Draco had never learnt how to express his feelings? Give in to them? Or was it that the man had been thrown around, used as a pawn, too much for him to ever trust someone again? He could trust Harry. Harry, who had been the pawn of Dumbledore for seventeen years. He better than anyone understood what it was like, but closing yourself to anyone and everyone was not the solution. Harry could show him that, he would have.</p><p>Or was the problem just Harry? Did they have too much history for it to ever work? Was there something wrong with him? Was he too nice? Was he not composed enough? Were they just too different? Whatever the reason, Harry was rolling around in his bed, changing sides every few minutes to try and find a position where the weight of the world wasn’t about to crush him. He didn’t find one.</p><p>Now he suddenly woke up with a startle. His chest was damp with sweat, and he threw the blanket aside, the whole room felt hot. Outside the rain was still roaring, and a forceful wave of it made the noise echo throughout the house. Harry was just sitting in his bed for a while, wondering what it was that had woken him up. He cast Lumos and peered at the clock on his wall, it was four in the morning. Way too late to not be sleeping, way too early to be up. Then he heard the sound, his doorbell was ringing. So that’s why he was awake. Harry didn’t even remember having a doorbell.</p><p>He squeezed his wand firmly and got up from his bed swiftly but quietly. A shiver rose from his back to his neck, and Harry picked up a bathrobe to cover his shirtless body, but didn’t bother to tie it close. He creeped into the hallway and tried to descend the stairs as nimbly as possible. His wand was still casting Lumos. Who on earth could it be? It was four in the morning for Merlin’s sakes. Was it Hermione? Had something happened? No, she would just Floo in. Maybe it was Kingsley with something urgent, but what could be <em>that</em> critical? If it was an associate of Ridgenorth’s they would have most likely just Confringo’d the door.</p><p>Harry carefully walked over to the door through the dark hallway, he took a short huff of breath before cautiously opening the door. The light from his wand illuminated Draco’s white face. He looked pained, like he hadn’t slept at all, again neither had Harry. The man was white as a ghost and the unfavourable light of Lumos brought out the dark circles under his eyes. His gold and silver hair was wet from the rain, as was his travel robe. A suitcase was hovering slightly off the ground beside him. He had a determined look on his face, his grey eyes almost black, staring at Harry menacingly.</p><p>Harry’s jaw dropped a little seeing him. Even now he hadn’t thought that he’d ever see the man again. “Malfoy? Wh–“</p><p>Harry couldn’t finish his question before the man darted forward, black robes behind him, grabbed Harry’s face and kissed him forcefully. Harry let out a surprised whimper, his eyes closing reflexively. He must have been dreaming, right? <em>Surely</em> there was <em>no way</em> Draco Malfoy had just marched up to his house <em>in the middle of the night</em> and threw himself at Harry. There was simply no way, the entire situation had an odd aura to it, like it wasn’t real. Though it may have been the time of night that made it so ambiguously intimate.</p><p>Now Draco pulled away, only slightly, but enough for Harry to surge forward in search of his lips that had disappeared. “Draco–“ Harry started again, whispering his name so quietly it was only a huff of breath, but got interrupted once more. He wondered that this might have been the only time he didn’t mind being interrupted by Malfoy in all their years.</p><p>The man was still holding Harry’s face in his hands, only a few centimetres away from his own, water from his hair dripping on Harry’s face. “Listen you dickhead,” Malfoy hissed, but his voice wasn’t scathing, it had… vulnerability Harry had only rarely heard, and staring into his eyes felt almost too personal now, “I don’t know what’s going on either, but I know I couldn’t leave without seeing you, so if I’m making a mistake don’t tell me now,” Malfoy’s voice was low and rough, and as Harry nodded, he kissed him again with such raw feeling that Harry swore he couldn’t be held accountable for anything that was about to happen. He kissed Malfoy back as intensely as he could and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. Now Draco’s hands were traveling to pull at his waist from under his bathrobe. His hands were cold.</p><p>At some point Malfoy’s suitcase had floated in and the door had closed, and Draco had Harry pinned against the wall. Harry started pulling off Malfoy’s outer robe and Draco pulled away just enough to look Harry in the eyes, his gaze scanning Harry’s face in an almost challenging manner. He was clearly evaluating whether they were going to take this to bed, and Harry raised his chin as a counter and <em>smirked</em> at Malfoy. He really was a dickhead.</p><p>At the same time though, Harry felt a sting of nervousness somewhere deep inside his gut. It had been too long since he had been with anyone. Sure, him and Ginny had been together for nearly five years, although the first year they were too busy with everything else to even think about being intimate, and the last year they were basically broken up anyway. But there were still three good years in there. That was four years ago, Harry thought and felt embarrassed. But he wasn’t going to show it. He knew that this was what he wanted, and knowing that Draco wanted it too made him kiss him now, slower, deeper. Besides, Harry was pretty hard right now, and he didn’t want to let Draco leave him.</p><p>Fortunately, Malfoy started taking off his robe and unbuttoning the jacket underneath. He dropped them on the ground and ran his long fingers through his hair. Harry wet his lips at the sight. “Right, Potter, escort me to your bedroom.”</p><p>Harry took Malfoy’s hand, like a little child wanting to show his friend something. But Draco didn’t let go, or comment on it. Right now, they were both feeling the same thing, a sense of unavoidability, and the realization that this might well be the last thing the two would ever share. Harry strode up the stairs with Malfoy following right in his footsteps, and led him to the bedroom whose door was open for them.</p><p>Harry took off his bathrobe in one swift motion, he was only wearing his pyjama bottoms now. Draco toed off his boots and started unbuttoning his white silk shirt. “Here, let me,” Harry said and swatted Draco’s hands off. Surprisingly, Malfoy didn’t fight it and dropped his arms to his sides, but keeping his eyes at Harry.</p><p>“Merlin, Potter,” he groaned, “when have you grown a body like this? A Christmas gift potion from the Department of Mysteries perhaps?” Malfoy ran his long fingers on Harry’s raised bicep, and brought his lips on Harry’s neck, traveling on the soft skin, but making unbuttoning the shirt unreasonably more difficult.</p><p>“Unfortunately not, just honest work lifting weights,” Harry mumbled and managed to open all the buttons of Draco’s shirt, he pulled it completely off. Underneath the shirt his skin was pale, although traces of a tan were still to be found. Harry had an irresistible urge to touch Malfoy's bare skin, and when he did, for some reason he was surprised to find it warm. He had always assumed that Draco ran as cold as his manner. Harry bit his lip while running his hands on the man’s sides, and leaving them to rest on his waist.</p><p>“Mhm, thought so,” Draco said more to himself than to anyone else, his head still nestled in Harry’s neck. His hot breath tickled Harry’s skin in the best way possible. The Dark Mark was still smudged on his left forearm, and Harry reflexively obeyed his urge to kiss it, maybe to show the man that he didn’t care about his past. Malfoy quickly lifted his head back up to follow Harry’s motion with his eyes, but didn't say anything. Instead, he gave Harry another fierce kiss, as to acknowledge the gesture.</p><p>“But seriously,” the man said between kisses, “I come back after ten bloody years, and you have the audacity to not look at least a little bit worse than you did before,” as he was talking, Draco was planting kisses on Harry’s lips, his face, his neck… he was running his fingers on Harry’s sides and back, “I mean, how on earth am I supposed to resist <em>this</em>,” Draco’s hand brushed Harry’s ass and finally cupped his crotch through his pyjama bottoms. Harry let out a small noise, he noticed now that Draco was hard too.</p><p>“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry said, voice rough.</p><p>“I told you, I’ve never been disappointed in you,” Draco replied and kissed Harry again, it was fast and relentless, his hands traveling everywhere on Harry’s body. Harry didn’t want to think about anything else but Malfoy’s touch, his warmth… and his hard cock brushing against Harry’s, he let out a soft whimper. Draco gently pushed Harry towards his bed until he fell on it backwards, quickly shuffling to the middle. Malfoy followed suit and was hovering over Harry for a second before kissing him again.</p><p>Then he withdrew from the kiss and sat astride on Harry’s waist. He slowly took off Harry’s glasses and placed them on the side table. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” he mumbled. <em>Without glasses or half naked beneath him?</em> Harry kept his tongue. Draco’s eyes were traveling on Harry’s body and his hands were tracing the edges. But Harry’s eyes were on him – his silver hair caught the moonlight and looked almost fluorescent, his eyes had gone dark but were very focused, Draco wasn’t his tense self, nor his arrogant self, either (at least not the usual amount). He was like another version of himself, more passionate but also gentler, more vulnerable. Harry was mesmerized.</p><p>Malfoy caught sight of him staring at his face and Harry was sure the git would somehow hex his dick off with his mind, but instead he said quietly “Now, now, Potter, don’t get soppy on me.” Harry was speechless, he had never heard Malfoy so benign, but before he could reply… “Right, let’s do something about this, then.” The man shifted downwards and brushed his palm against Harry’s hard cock, Harry let out a sharp breath.</p><p>Next, Malfoy kissed Harry’s stomach softly, and mouthed his hard-on through his pyjama bottoms. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled both Harry’s pyjamas and his pants off. Malfoy then pressed his tongue flat on the base of Harry’s cock and licked from the bottom up in one long motion, before taking the tip in his mouth. Harry’s eyes widened when he watched Malfoy do this to him, it was too much, he had to lower his head on the pillow.</p><p>Malfoy’s long fingers wrapped around the shaft of Harry’s dick and started jerking it gently while sucking the tip deeper and deeper. Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut but couldn’t hold back a moan. This seemed to egg Draco on, because he picked up the pace slightly, but not too much. Harry felt all of the blood in his body gather in his crotch as he neared orgasm, still all his limbs felt hot. He grabbed the sheets for emotional support and his breath quickened. A thought popped into his head, <em>How many times had Draco done this before?</em> Harry decided to ignore such childish speculations.</p><p>Wet noises and the sounds of shuffling sheets filled the room for a few more minutes, until Draco reached to tug at Harry’s balls very delicately, which sent Harry over the edge, coming into Draco’s mouth with a groan. His back arched slightly off the bed and he gasped a few times. Harry’s other leg twitched slightly as he relaxed on the bed, letting out a long sigh. Malfoy didn’t say anything.</p><p>A minute went by, and another. The blond man climbed up the bed beside Harry and stared at the ceiling. “Right, now you,” Harry sat up after a while, but Malfoy sat up too with an odd look on his face, “if you want to, that is,” Harry had to add.</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> want to?” Malfoy asked, looking a little worried. For Merlin’s sakes, <em>now</em> he was getting considerate? Harry nodded, “I want to.” He turned to look at the bulge on Malfoy’s slacks that he was still wearing, and gently rubbed it through the fabric. Malfoy made a similar sounding gasp as Harry had just minutes earlier. Harry’s hand stopped hesitantly, “But, er, I’m not so sure about the, uh, the come bit. Y’know… swallowing… I’ve never done this before,” Harry admitted, and was cringing internally, he didn’t think he had ever talked about come to anyone else before. But Malfoy didn’t flinch, he just nodded, “Do what you feel comfortable with,” then, as if he had caught himself being too nice, he added, “Anyway I wouldn’t have been surprised if you told be you were a virgin, Perfect Potter,” the last two words where half spat out and half a chuckle.</p><p>Harry thought about that for a second. “Well, I’ve never been with a bloke before, if that counts.” He didn’t know why it felt like a secret to tell, even though the whole wizarding Britain probably knew all about his sex life, having made the headlines with him and Ginny’s breakup. Surely if he had ever been seen holding hands with someone else, Malfoy would know.</p><p>Draco fell down to lean on his elbows and snorted, “Figures, you always were a prude, Potter, a little too good for anyone.” He then seemed to blush at his words and turned his face to the side. After all, <em>he</em> was with Harry right now.</p><p>“Heey! I am not too good for anyone,” Harry protested and sat up more on the bed. He had never thought that he was too good for someone, which probably made it a bit sad that he still hadn't had a date in four years. He couldn’t help it being shy! Then, he couldn't hold back a smirk when he said, “I’m with you, aren’t I?”</p><p>Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Yes, but that’s because I’m a real catch.”</p><p>Harry just shook his head, smiling, “Do you want your cock sucked or not, Malfoy?”</p><p>Draco fell all the way down to the bed, facing the ceiling, “Yes please.”</p><p>That was Harry’s cue to start undressing him. He pulled off his slacks with a degree more difficulty than Draco had done, and rubbed his erection through the soft fabric of his pants. Harry then pulled off the last of the clothes Draco was wearing, and he now had a completely naked Draco Malfoy sprawled on his bed. The dick in front of him was a shade of purple, pulsating and arching long. Harry bit his lip and tried to recall what Draco had just done to Harry himself, if he did that, he must have liked it, right?</p><p>Harry licked down the length of Draco’s cock before popping the head into his mouth. It tasted faintly like the detergent from a cleaning spell and something salty. Harry honestly didn’t know what to expect, but wasn’t horrified yet, so that was a start. He then brought his hand on to the shaft of the penis and started moving it up and down, squeezing firmly but gently. Now Draco let out a soft whimper, maybe to let Harry know he was on the right track.</p><p>Harry’s hand was working steadily in parallel with his mouth, and for a good five minutes it was silent again. Draco’s breathing was heavy and his hand was tangled in Harry’s hair. Harry was obediently keeping his rhythm, although his hand might have picked up the pace a little. Just when his jaw was starting to ache, Draco suddenly tugged at Harry’s hair, and Harry lifted his head in time to see the glistening white discharge shoot out the tip of Malfoy’s cock. It was spreading onto his stomach and bellybutton.</p><p>After Draco had come to, Harry quickly cast a wandless cleaning charm, as he was frankly too lazy to get out of bed to get his wand.</p><p>“I still can’t believe you can do wandless magic, you absolute tosser,” Malfoy huffed as he got in between the sheets. Harry followed suit, but didn’t comment on the magic part, because he didn’t want to admit that he almost never did it, and frankly just wanted to impress Malfoy a bit.</p><p>They were quiet for a long time, just lying next to each other in bed, under the sheets, moonlight gleaming through the window. It was full moon, and that made Harry think of Lupin. “Just so you know,” Harry spoke quietly, “I wasn’t going to tell you that you’re making a mistake.” He was thinking back to a few minutes ago, or was it hours? Being with Draco made his head cloudy in the best way.</p><p>“What?” came the git’s question, his tone almost annoyed, but there was nothing hostile in his expression. On the contrary, he looked almost relieved, relaxed, lying next to Harry. His hair was spread out over the pillow, wonderfully dishevelled, and it made Harry feel very soft for the man. The way they lied there next to each other, just two people who could be anyone, the rough fabric of the sheets on their naked bodies.</p><p>Harry propped himself up on his left elbow and turned to Draco, “What you said before, I wasn’t going to stop you because…” he paused, in search for words, “because I wanted it too.” Harry was looking at Malfoy, and felt a nearly irresistible urge to caress his hair, he wondered if it was as soft as it looked like, he hadn't really noticed before.</p><p>Now the man snorted. “Well yes, that was pretty obvious when you were sucking my cock just now,” Draco scoffed, but didn’t look at Harry. Instead, he kept his eyes in the doorway, an implication Harry was not enjoying. He was quiet for a while, just measuring Malfoy’s face with his eyes, until the blond man turned to face his stare “What is it, Potter?” he spewed sharply. There was something behind his eyes that Harry couldn't make out.</p><p>Harry gave a long sigh, and refrained from reaching out to Draco, he was quite sure he wouldn't enjoy the gesture. “You’re always fighting so hard, it’s like everyone is out to get you,” he said quietly. Every time Harry had interacted with Malfoy, he had always been an arrogant git, and Harry had always assumed it was because they hated each other. They didn’t hate each other anymore, not even close, so why was the man still pushing him away?</p><p>Malfoy looked away, scowling again, “They are,” he replied simply. Harry couldn’t not think of what a horrible way it was to go through life, thinking that every single person was against you. Granted, Draco hadn’t had it easy in school, and he definitely hadn’t had it easy after the trials, but still, to exhaust oneself always fighting back… what? Who?</p><p>“I’m not,” Harry asserted firmly, and reached out to carefully touch the man’s white hair, it was very soft, and Harry was sure that inside, Draco was just as gentle, “I think you know that,” he continued, “so I don’t know why you’re still fighting me. I think we’ve established ourselves not to be enemies anymore.” At least that’s what Harry hoped.</p><p>“You’re so insufferable, you know that?” Malfoy spat out, still facing away from Harry, “You’re not just pretending to be <em>good,</em> you actually are. At least if you were full of shit it would be easier to hate you, instead now <em>I</em> just feel like shit.”</p><p>After that, they were both quiet for a long while. Harry didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t purposefully trying to make the man miserable, he was just being himself, though that was what seemed to be the problem in the first place. Now Draco continued, calmer, “Despite my previous statements, you’re the only person I know who’s never thought himself better than someone else,” he said very quietly, and Harry thought of Draco’s cronies in Slytherin, and he thought of Lucius and Narcissa. “Even when we were at odds, you always treated me as an equal. Granted you probably hated me, and by Salazar I hated you, but you never looked down on me.”</p><p>Now there was a thought that had never occurred to Harry. He had to suppress saying something extremely soppy, like <em>but we are equals</em> or <em>I always saw something in you</em>, the latter at least would just be a blatant lie. He wanted to think it was because the Dursley’s treated him like shit, so he didn’t want to do that to others – that way maybe he could have found something good out of living with them, but he didn’t think that that was the real reason. He had just always been like that, it was common courtesy for fuck’s sakes, treating others with respect.</p><p>“I guess I just had the benefit of not being raised and surrounded by self-centred bigots wanting to eradicate the wizarding England of muggle blood, to put it one way,” Harry stated very unembellished, though he meant it more as sarcasm.</p><p>Draco snorted dryly. “That must be it,” he muttered, “you were raised by just regular narcissists.” The remark made Harry smile, it felt good being with Malfoy, just being with him, talking about regular things… well, semi-regular. Hearing his voice, being able to look at him without having to worry what he’d think.</p><p>“So, you hated me then?” Harry asked, part teasing, part out of sheer curiosity. It had been very clear to Harry at the time that Malfoy had hated his guts, but talking with Narcissa had made Harry doubt himself, and now he wanted to find out, once and for all, what had been going on at Draco’s end of the rivalry.</p><p>“I did,” the man said blatantly, but smirked at Harry, before turning his face away again. There was a long pause where Harry was just measuring Draco’s face with his eyes before he continued, “One could say that you were my general sore spot.” Before Harry dared to ask what it meant, Draco was already continuing, his brows frowned at the doorway, and he pulled his arms from under the sheets to lay on top of the covers, “One word about you would get me all riled up, but one word <em>from</em> you…” it was very quiet for a few seconds, “one word from you and I would’ve–“</p><p>Draco shook his head to himself only slightly and pressed his eyes shut very tightly. Harry’s pulse was rapid, his heart had risen to his throat, was Draco implying that he had been–</p><p>“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” his voice lowered the tension in the room, but did not get rid of it entirely, Harry was sweating from his palms again, trying to process what he had just heard, “I was young and discovering who I was. At least now you know.” Malfoy’s expression was a mixture of embarrassment and defiance, like he was gearing up to something. For all that Harry cared, he didn’t have to gear up to anything ever again, at least not from his part.</p><p>Harry’s voice had disappeared somewhere in his throat, and when he spoke the man’s name, only a faint whisper came out, “Draco…”</p><p>Malfoy turned his head slowly to face Harry, and Harry had never seen such vulnerability in his eyes. Not when he was up in the Astronomy Tower pointing his wand at Dumbledore, not when Harry had hit him with Sectumsempra, not in the Malfoy Manor when Harry had yanked his wand out of his hand, not ever. Granted, Harry had not a few days ago admitted that confessing one’s feelings was loads harder than fighting Voldemort.</p><p>Now Harry lowered himself to give a long soft kiss on Draco’s lips, who, it shouldn’t be a surprise to Harry anymore, kissed him back desperately. For a second, Harry tried to hold back, but eventually thought, fuck it, and kissed Draco deeper, with tongue. He ran his hand to gently pull the curve of Malfoy’s waist against him. Whatever Malfoy had felt then, it was manifesting right now, in their lips meeting each other in the privacy of the dark night.</p><p>Abruptly, Harry pulled away from the kiss to stare into Draco’s silvery eyes, and gave himself permission to sound soppy. Frankly, he didn’t care about his image anymore, “Will I ever see you again?” he asked, trying to find the answer in the man’s face. The horrible pit in his stomach had returned upon realizing that this might well be the only night that they’d ever share.</p><p>Before Harry had the time to properly despair, Malfoy tangled his hand into Harry’s hair, and firmly said, “Shut up,” before pulling him into another snog. He had a point: to take advantage of the situation that was still present, and not worry about the future too much. At least that’s what Harry would have thought, if he would have been capable of forming any coherent thoughts while the man’s tongue was licking the inside of his mouth.</p><p>It may have been minutes, or hours, later, when the two of them found themselves lying beside each other again. The awful feeling of finality was taking over Harry, limb by limb, making him want to cry and be numb at the same time. He tried to shake the sensation by appreciating the fact that Draco was still there with him, he had not yet gone.</p><p>“Can I hold your hand?” Harry whispered to the room, feeling silly uttering the words, but really wanting to touch Malfoy while he could. Especially if he was never going to see him again, he might as well be as mushy as he wanted. He felt a tight squeeze in his chest, but it was quickly alleviated by probably the most unexpected thing that had happened the whole night, which was saying a lot. Malfoy turned to Harry and, without saying a word, gently pulled him <em>in his arms,</em> resting his jaw in his dark hair. Harry was so taken aback he didn’t say anything. That was probably for the best. The moment itself was enough to overwhelm him, but for some reason, the sheer comfort of being held suddenly made him feel the weight of every single night he had spent up tossing and turning.</p><p>The warmth from Draco’s chest combined with the utter peacefulness of the moment made Harry’s eyes close unwillingly. He planted a small kiss onto Malfoy’s skin, hoping that it wasn’t too much. Draco gave him a quick peck on his head, and that was it. After that, Harry drifted into a dreamless sleep, the first of many.</p><p>When he woke up the next morning, sunlight streaming through his windows, Draco had gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLEASE NOTE: This story is a work of fiction, and does not necessarily represent a normal, healthy image of sex. The reader should note that unprotected sex should NEVER be had with a partner whose full sexual history is not in their knowledge, be that oral, anal, vaginal, or other. You can read more at https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/teens/preventing-pregnancy-stds</p><p>I urge you to trust yourself and yourself only, when it comes to ensuring the health of any sexual acts. This has been a PSA. Happy wizarding!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. A Letter from Mrs. Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three months later.</em>
</p><p>The summer had been very average. Actually, it had been a bit cooler than usually. The bright green leaves of spring were turning darker in shade, and the <em>Prophet</em> was forecasting a heat wave to hit the UK later in July. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s re-election campaign was going strong with advertisements in papers, posters put up in the Ministry, and repeated public appearances, whether it was to personally visit young patients in St. Mungo’s, or shaking the hand of some small business owner at Diagon Alley.</p><p>Permission slips were now flying about the Ministry in herds. Every move that wasn’t strictly a day-to-day routine had to be signed off by someone else. It felt as though anything more drastic than going to the bathroom was monitored. ‘There can be no side steps’, Kingsley had announced in the weekly internal newsletter, probably not realizing that the system he had implemented was probably doing him more foul than good.</p><p>Harry was sitting in his office, which was simply covered with permission slips at this point, staring at one of them beneath his quill, not seeing anything. He had done that a lot lately, suddenly realizing that he’d been holding a quill for several minutes, or stared at the morning paper without actually reading it, or that his bath water had gone cold while he had been sitting in the tub for an hour. He wasn’t thinking about anything specifically, he just kind of zoned out from time to time.</p><p>Lately though, Harry had been sleeping much better than he used to. He hadn’t had a single nightmare in what was nearing to be three months already. Though now his dreams were filled with visions of a tall blond git, be it just flashes of his hair, or him mumbling Harry’s name. Sometimes the dreams were memories, sometimes Harry dreamt that he heard a demanding knock at his door, and sometimes, though most rarely, he dreamt a conversation. Nothing special, just the two of them talking, laughing. After those dreams, Harry usually just stayed in his bed, trying to remember as much as he could. Occasionally, when he felt like it was all too much, he rolled over in his bed to occupy the place where the man had once lied, all those months ago, and tried to imagine he was still there.</p><p>Despite them both having been extremely busy with work, even Ron and Hermione had noticed that something was wrong. They had only seen a handful of times lately, but some weeks ago, Hermione had appeared in Harry’s office, catching him once again drifting off, staring outside his enchanted window. She had asked what had happened between him and Malfoy, and why Harry was acting so strangely once again. He had reluctantly given a very vague description of the events preceding Malfoy leaving for Italy, and leaving Harry to sleep. Hermione had promptly diagnosed Harry with love sickness, and suggested he’d reach out to Malfoy.</p><p>After that, Harry had been sitting in front of the writing paper on his drawer, staring at the blank page. But no matter how long he tried to compose a letter in his head, it never came out as anything he would dare to owl the man. There was nothing to possibly say to change the situation, and Harry didn’t want to send a letter, leaving himself to wait for a response that might never come. He wasn’t sure whether he should be resigned from the situation, but trying to salvage it seemed like a futile effort, so now he was stuck, dreaming about gold streaked hair and lips so relentless Harry woke up, gasping, with a raging hard on.</p><p>On a Saturday in early July, Harry had decided to pull himself out of whatever cycle he was in enough to clean his house. Maybe it would make him feel a bit better, he thought, as he once again pulled out <em>Practical Household Magic</em> from his dusty bookcase. However, it turned out that cleaning his house would have to wait, as while arranging the things in his hall he came across a white envelope addressed to him in cursive letters. Harry had forgotten about Narcissa’s letter entirely, even though the Dittany now sitting on his bedroom windowsill reminded him of Malfoy every time he laid his eyes on it. A while back, Harry had contacted Neville, asking for tips for caring for Dittany’s, and had received an enthusiastic reply. This had prompted an exchange of letters between the two, and Neville had even paid a visit to Harry, checking on his garden plants, and on him. Seeing Neville again had been very nice, Harry always forgot how much he liked his friends, and how stupid he was for isolating himself.</p><p>Now, however, Harry sat on the nearest chair in the hallway, clutching the letter. With shaky hands, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the piece of parchment folded two times. <em>Whatever soppy drivel it contains I care not to know,</em> Malfoy had said while handing Harry the letter. His eyes scanned the cursive text as quickly as possible.</p><p>
  <em>Thursday, 3 April, 2008</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Harry,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am writing to you to once again thank you for all that you have done in defending me and my name in a situation where my innocence was uncertain. The actions that got me into said position were foolish to say the least, that I admit. You must forgive me, and understand, that when you love someone, you would do anything to be with them, however incomprehensible their character might seem to others. I hope you don’t mind me confessing it, I do love Lucius, he is the father to my son, surely you understand, even if Draco does not.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>While I am writing to you, I hope you will allow me to say another thing. It has to do with my son. I don’t know what you and Draco are; whether you are rivals, reluctant acquaintances, or something else entirely, and I recognize it is none of my business. However, I want to thank you, if for nothing else, then for appearing in my son’s life. As improbable as I realize it might sound, these last weeks, Draco has shown a newfound liveliness, no matter that it was from being annoyed at one thing or another from your direction. These last few years I have noticed that Draco has been sinking into a resignation of sorts about life, and I think that whatever you two were doing reignited an old fire, something far better than indifference. Draco would hate me telling you all this, but it is impossible to not notice how he has been happier, much happier than before, and for that I hope that you two will cross paths again, sometime.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please accept this Dittany as a token of my thanks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With kindest regards,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narcissa Malfoy</em>
</p><p>Harry read the letter again, and again, and once after that. He leaned back in his chair and accidentally banged his head against the stairs while doing so. Muttering curses he carefully folded the letter back into the envelope, and walked over to his living room, only to lie down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He was still holding the envelope, as if it was some kind of proof of something, and if he let go of it, it might disappear. In a way, it <em>was</em>proof of something: it was proof that whatever had happened, it hadn’t just been in Harry’s head. It was proof that Malfoy’s own <em>mother</em> thought that Harry had made him livelier, had made him happier. A wave of chills washed over Harry, as he thought about being with Draco, thought about kissing him, touching him, smelling his hair, feeling his warmth, hearing his name spoken. It was something Harry yearned for, every minute of every day. Hermione had been right as always, he was love sick. He was sick and there was only one cure. In one swift motion, Harry was up from the sofa – he knew what he had to do.</p><p>***</p><p>Harry placed a firm knock on Narcissa Malfoy’s door. He had changed into his summer robes and combed his hair, still clutching the letter in his hand, heart pounding. The front garden was no longer untamed like Harry remembered it, and the evening sun was shining on the large peonies, dahlias, and hydrangeas around the yard. The grass was cut, and the previously naked apple tree was now full of small raw fruit among the leaves. There was a smell of summer in the air, flowers combined with freshly cut grass and hot pavement. There were sounds of children playing in some of the yards.</p><p>Now the door opened carefully, and Narcissa’s figure appeared in the entryway. Her hair was in a bun, and her face was tight with nervousness, although it seemed to ease a bit upon her seeing that it was Harry who was standing on her yard. “Potter, how unexpected to see you here,” she said politely, but struggled to produce a smile, “are you on official business?” Again, she thought that Harry was there to arrest her, or interrogate her, or some other thing related to police showing up at one’s door.</p><p>“No, no, nothing of the sorts,” Harry shook his head, and found that it was difficult for him to switch pleasantries while he had something pressing to discuss, “it’s about your son, actually.” Harry was thumbing the letter in his hand, and Narcissa’s eyes were drawn to the motion, noticing that it was her letter Harry was holding.</p><p>Narcissa nodded slowly. “I see, come on in, please,” she moved aside to let Harry pass, and then closed the door behind her. The house was more furnished now, there was a rug on the floor, and closets for outerwear. The drawer Narcissa had pulled the Malfoy family ring out of had moved to the other side of the hall along with the mirror. The hallway ended in stairs that went upstairs, and Harry couldn’t help wondering if Draco’s room would be at the end of that flight of stairs. Even having seen the man naked, he couldn’t have resisted an offer to see his room, something so inherently intimate. Although, what Harry then realized, was that he had probably stayed in a guest room, since this was mainly his mother’s house.</p><p>“Make yourself at home,” Narcissa’s voice broke into Harry’s consciousness and he found himself staring at the end of the corridor and the stairs. She was now gesturing for Harry to join her in the living room. It was now completely furnished as well: a thick rug was placed under the deep sofas, and side tables had appeared with dubious looking plants and decorative magical artefacts on them. There was a bookcase on the far wall simply gushing with books. There was a neat clay pot, undoubtedly filled with Floo powder, on the rim of the fireplace, along with candles and only two picture frames.</p><p>Narcissa sat down in the armchair Harry had occupied in his previous visit, “What about Draco?” she asked. Harry sat down on the sofa and hoped that she didn’t think he’d come bearing some sort of bad news – surely she had been in touch with her son more than Harry, who had not heard of the man after he had left. He still relived the feeling sometimes. That morning, when he had woken up, he hadn’t remembered it at first, not recalling when he would have slept as soundly as he had. But something in him had remembered, because when he had rolled over in his bed to find it empty, he had had a feeling it shouldn’t be. The sheets hadn’t been warm anymore, but when Harry had all but buried his face into the pillow next to his, he could recognize the fresh smell of pine and citrus: Malfoy. He had wanted to smell the pillowcase all day, maybe forever.</p><p>Now Harry realized that Narcissa most definitely knew that Draco had sneaked out that night, how could she not, it was her house for Merlin’s sakes, and she sure has hell knew where he went. Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck. He felt a bit silly, having come to Narcissa, but felt like he was out of options, he didn't know what to do, or whether he should do anything, and she knew Draco the best. Maybe she would say that her son always did this, and didn’t want to hear from his exploits. Then Harry had a horrible thought: was it possible that he had just been a conquest of Malfoy’s? How much did he sleep around? Although, Narcissa’s letter had implied that even if he did, Harry had made him less passive than he had been before. Now he cleared his throat. “It’s not so much about him as it is about… well, er, me,” he had to clarify, and was trying to compose a way to express the matter, suddenly feeling very self-aware of the fact that he might have been the only one who was still affected by the whole affair, “Mrs Malfoy, I don’t know who else to talk about this…”</p><p>“You’re in love,” Narcissa’s direct interruption hit Harry like a stunning spell, “you’re in love with him,” she was looking straight into Harry’s eyes, grey eyes big and glistening. Harry’s heart rate hopped up. Was it <em>that</em> obvious? <em>Was</em> he in love with Malfoy? It seemed to be clear to Narcissa, who was now sitting at the edge of her seat, hands clasped together in her lap. Was it that after all of this time of being alone, and an even longer time of hating Malfoy, Harry was in love?</p><p>He thought of all the things the git had made him feel, the hatred and the pity all those years ago, the nervousness and anxiety his presence had caused in Harry lately. The sheer passion of that one night together, the chills that the man gave Harry with just one touch. Harry wanted <em>more</em>, he wanted his company, he wanted his attention, by Merlin he wanted his touch. Harry went a little red from his cheeks, “I think I might be,” he confessed.</p><p>Narcissa let out a deep sigh, looking at Harry very empathetically. Was Harry only one of many who had fallen to the snares of Malfoy? Did the empathetic look conceal something else, something like pity? Harry’s gut was wrenching with all the questions he had that he didn’t dare to ask. “Oh dear, I’ll make us some tea,” she huffed simply, and got up, disappearing into the kitchen. It was safe to say that her reply did not settle Harry’s nerves at all.</p><p>While Narcissa was putting the kettle on in the other room, Harry felt too queasy to sit still. He quickly got up to his feet, and, in the lack of something better to do, went over to the fireplace to take a closer look at the photos displayed. On the left, Malfoy was sitting at a table behind a birthday cake, with a huge number six candle on it. He was laughing at the camera, his smile missing some teeth, and his hair was whiter than Harry had ever seen it. His cheeks were round and rosy. The picture had been put in a simple golden frame, while the one on the right was in a more ornamental, black frame. In this picture, Malfoy looked about thirteen years old, he was standing side by side with Lucius, while Narcissa was sitting at the front. They were all wearing black, and none of them were smiling. It was a huge contrast with the little laughing Draco of the other picture, and Harry couldn’t help wondering why Narcissa had opted for these two pictures to be put up. As teenage Draco blinked up at Harry from the picture, Harry couldn’t help wondering if he had been happy at the time. It must have been around that period when he had really recognized that he had been gay, surely something deeply unsettling to realize to the only heir of the Malfoy family. Harry wondered how Lucius had taken it, or if he even knew.</p><p>“That was the only family portrait they let me keep,” Narcissa’s voice made Harry almost jump out of his robes. He hastily turned to her, as if he had been found out committing some heinous crime. She was holding two cups of milky tea, Harry would have bet galleons that they were without sugar, just how Draco liked it.</p><p>Now Harry understood that Narcissa was referring to the Ministry when she said ‘they’. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly, despite not being in any way responsible for what the Ministry had done to the Malfoy family at the time. The trials had been ruthless, and the Ministry had been cold-blooded in the execution of the court’s orders, to say the least. Although, Harry had to admit that the Malfoys had probably taken the most hit from the aftermath of Voldemort’s death. They had lost their house, almost all of their possessions, along with huge fines imposed upon them. Draco had lost both of his parents, his mother for nine years, his father forever.</p><p>Narcissa was quiet for a long time. She handed Harry the teacup and sat back down in the armchair, absentmindedly stirring the tea with a dainty silver spoon. “So, you read the letter, then,” she said, and took a careful sip, before turning her gaze back to Harry. Her expression was expectant. Harry bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, he went around the coffee table and sat back down on the edge of the sofa.</p><p>“Yes, to tell you the truth I forgot about it until now,” Harry admitted, and sipped from his cup cordially, only to understand the look on Malfoy’s face when he had tasted Harry’s sorry excuse for tea: the liquid he was now enjoying was creamy and full, the flavours of milk and what he assumed to be very fancy tea mixed together wonderfully. However, Harry had to put the cup down for what he was about to say next, he feared the shaking of his hands would reveal his nervousness. “You said I made him happy,” was the only thing he said. Harry couldn’t bring himself to ask if it was true, or to inquire further, he just needed confirmation that he wasn’t making connections that weren’t there.</p><p>Narcissa nodded slowly. “I did, I know it’s not obvious to you, but I know you did,” she said quietly, and took another sip from her tea. Had Malfoy told her something? Had he talked about Harry to his mother, even now? What had he been saying? All of these questions and more needed answering in Harry’s head. So Malfoy, however fleetingly, had had feelings for Harry, and had apparently been noticeably more content when he had been able to bump heads with Harry again. Still, Harry felt uncertain.</p><p>“So… what now?” he asked, and acknowledged how silly he sounded. Since reading Narcissa’s letter, he had been entertaining the concept of going to Italy and seeing Malfoy, but it was a completely daft idea, Harry had never even been abroad, he didn’t know where to start looking for him. But trying to forget the git was unbearable, Harry knew he could never manage it. He wanted to see him, even to be rejected by him if that meant getting answers. The way he was currently, it was no way to live; to dream about someone every night, arching for their touch, their voice, it was purgatory.</p><p>Narcissa had the audacity to shrug at Harry’s question. “I might be partial in this situation, I only want what’s best for my son,” she said and put down her teacup. How frustrating it was that she didn’t provide answers to Harry when he clearly needed them. On the other hand, Harry realized that it was completely preposterous for him to march in her house, demanding some kind of… what? Validation, maybe, to his feelings.</p><p>Harry decided to go straight to the point, “Is it mad that I want to go see him?” His voice was filled with exasperation, but he needed to know that he wasn’t making the matter bigger in his mind than it was. Was it mad that he was asking Malfoy’s <em>mother</em> for advice in the matters of the heart that concerned her own son? Clearly it was, but lately Harry had been feeling like he was drowning in a sea of his emotions, and that Narcissa was a life raft he desperately needed to get his head from under the water. Some of Malfoy’s dramatics had clearly rubbed off on Harry.</p><p>Narcissa gave a light snort and shook her head slightly. “It’s not mad at all, I remember what it’s like to be young and in love, it’s a fire you cannot extinguish.” Harry was sipping on the creamy tea again, it somehow calmed his nerves, a gentle warmth spreading to his limbs. At the same time, he hoped that Narcissa was not referring to being madly in love with Lucius, he wasn’t sure if he could process the image as it was, and he certainly did not want to hear more about it. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like Narcissa was going to continue.</p><p>“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Harry hated how pathetic he sounded, like a teenager again. He put his empty teacup down, and was left twisting his own hands in his lap. It had been months since Draco had confessed his feelings for Harry, what if he had already forgotten about the whole thing? What if Harry was the only one still pining over the other? The thought sent a terrible shiver down his spine.</p><p>Narcissa was giving a horribly evaluative look at Harry, like she was assessing whether he was boyfriend material or not, whether Draco would still care about him or not. She then leaned forward, and pulled a small woven basket from the lower level of the coffee table. Harry saw that it was full of letters, of which Narcissa now pulled out one. She handed it to Harry and gave him a look of ‘go on, open it’. The envelope had already been neatly opened with a paper knife, and now Harry pulled out a smooth letter of two pages. “The second paragraph,” Narcissa said simply, and was eyeing Harry attentively. Harry folded the letter open and directed his attention over the first paragraph, which seemed to be a description of his journey and arrival home, downwards on the paper. In incredibly meticulous penmanship, it said:</p><p>
  <em>However, I must confess that I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake. The mistake you warned me about all these weeks, and I didn’t dare to listen. You would be right to scold me with a Howler, but I think we both know it wouldn’t make a difference. For the second time already, I am left with the bitter consequences of my actions in this matter.</em>
</p><p>The next paragraph already changed the subject, and Harry, with his shaky hands, was left wanting to know more. What mistake? Was he talking about them sleeping together? Because if it was so, Harry would hope the ground to swallow him at any moment now. But he did say ‘for the second time already’, what was he referring to? Why did have to be so cryptic, even in letters to his own mum? Harry checked the date, it was a few days after Malfoy had left England, and it still didn’t quell his anxiety about the time that had already passed.</p><p>“He’s talking about you,” Narcissa’s voice drew Harry out of his miserable introspection, she was still measuring Harry’s face, but had now leaned back in the chair, crossing her hands in her lap. Harry folded the letter back into the envelope, and handed it to Narcissa, who neatly stored it back in the box, which she slipped back under the table.</p><p>“How do you know?” Harry asked, but realized soon that if it was about something Narcissa had been warning Draco for weeks, she probably knew what he was talking about. The problem was, Harry didn’t know what either of them were talking about, and hoped that Narcissa hadn’t been warning Malfoy about not getting too close to Harry. In fact, he hoped it was the opposite of that.</p><p>“I know my son,” Narcissa replied simply, but then sighed, “I regret to say that I have not loved him the way he deserves to be loved, the same goes for my husband, he should be so lucky as to find someone like you.” Harry's heart was hammering, she had been on Harry’s side this whole time? She wanted Harry to go see Draco? Was this seriously an idea that he was entertaining? It was barking mad! To show up at Draco’s door, just like that, although not unlike Draco had done to Harry…</p><p>That evening, Harry left the Malfoy residence, not with a peaceful mind, but with a stormy one, now gripping another piece of parchment in his hand. Only this time, it was Draco Malfoy’s address in Tuscany.</p><p>***</p><p>“Excuse me,” Kingsley’s deep voice said, “you said you’re doing what now?” He had stood up from his chair behind the large desk in his office, his reading glasses propped up on his forehead, still holding some papers in his hand, more squeezing them now, really. It was the first Friday of July, and after having his insightful chat with Narcissa the day before, Harry had gone home and started packing, with a newfound sense of purpose. That morning he had marched straight into Kingsley’s office to announce that he was going away on a holiday, even though to him, it felt much more like a crusade.</p><p>“That’s right,” Harry replied firmly. He was standing in the middle of the office, wearing his civilian robes, trying to make Kingsley approve a very simple form he had laid in front of his nose. It was a parchment asking, no, <em>notifying</em>, that he was taking his leaves, four weeks of them, effective immediately. Harry had a plan: he would leave first thing Saturday morning, he had already arranged an international portkey to take him near the address he had received from Narcissa, he would find the right place, and hopefully, things would take their natural course from there, if not, Harry was knee-deep in dragon shit. However, Kingsley was not aware of this plan, and did not seem to be very pleased by this last-minute announcement.</p><p>Harry could basically see the steam rising from the Minister’s ears. “Can’t you take your holiday <em>after</em> the elections? I need you here, Harry,” he said, visibly frustrated. The voting would take place August first, until which Kingsley wanted to maintain absolute control, there couldn’t be any blunders or oversights when it came to the Ministry’s work these months. His compulsive need for order gave Harry an unpleasant reminder of when Dolores Umbridge had led Hogwarts, and hoped that Kingsley’s condition would pass after the elections had been held.</p><p>Harry shook his head apologetically, “Sorry sir, urgent business,” he shrugged, waiting another month would be torture, especially now that he had a plan. He had a plan, and it was going to work. “Besides,” Harry continued, “you said that Evergrey was great at leading the memory potions case some months ago, he can take over for me, you know he’ll be good.” Evergrey <em>would</em> be good, Harry hoped he wouldn’t be too good though, not good enough for Kingsley to replace Harry with him. There were still things that Harry wanted to do as Head Auror, things he wanted to make better, he had only been at the position for a year!</p><p>“For Merlin’s sakes, Potter, what you’re putting me through,” Kingsley sighed and rubbed his temples, while giving mean looks in Harry’s direction, his blue robes moving from the motion, gold embroidery flickering in the creases, “fine, I suppose I can’t stop you if I wanted to, you’re a right menace anyway,” the man huffed and slouched back into the chair. He picked up his quill reluctantly, and signed the parchment. Then he leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest, giving Harry a very final look.</p><p>“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, sir,” Harry said with a teasing glimmer in his eye, “you have my vote.” He gave the man a crooked smile.</p><p>Kingsley rolled his eyes, “Oh, piss off, before I change my mind,” he muttered and shook his head at Harry, before returning to the enormous stack of papers on his desk, quill in his hand. Whatever he was doing, it did not look like pleasant work, and Harry swore again that he’d never want Kingsley’s job. Too much paperwork, too much of it.</p><p>Even though Harry was antsy to get a move on, he had to do one more thing before leaving for a month. He strode through the busy corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, past his own office, and took a left to find the right door. Harry placed a brisk knock on Patrick’s door frame, and entered before hearing so much as a ‘come in’. Patrick looked surprised to find Harry in his office so suddenly, and but down his quill. “Harry, what is it?” by now he knew to skip whatever pleasantries would normally be exchanged between co-workers, especially when Harry was clearly in a hurry.</p><p>“Patrick, I’m just here to tell you that I’m taking some time off, I probably won’t be back before the elections,” Harry strode over to one of the chairs his side of the desk and took a seat. It was probably a mistake, because he felt too nervous to sit down, he found himself shaking his leg and tapping on it with two fingers. He wanted to leave now, right now, and never come back. Well, he did want to come back, but right now, he wanted to leave.</p><p>“Blimey Harry, er, good for you?” Patrick ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Harry evaluatively, before nodding, “I think it’ll do you good,” he added. Harry hoped it would, too. It would do him good, or it could all go horribly wrong, but that he had to find out for himself. He tried to calm down, why was it so damn hard?</p><p>“Thanks, Patrick, I think so too,” Harry nodded eagerly and found himself looking around the room. It was the same as always, infuriatingly neat, with messy stacks of parchment nowhere in sight. Evergrey’s bookcase wasn’t flowing with useless books and binders like Harry’s was, and his desk was organized as always, how irritating. “I just came to tell you something, before you hear it from Kingsley,” Harry said, and gave a meaningful look in Patrick’s direction, who was now looking very weary of Harry, “while I’m gone, you’re the acting Head Auror.”</p><p>Patrick snorted like he thought it was a joke. Soon enough he realized that there wasn’t a glimpse of humour in Harry’s face, and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I’m a what now?” he asked, dumbfounded. Harry didn’t really know what Patrick had been expecting, since he was Harry’s right-hand man after all. Naturally there always had to be someone in charge, especially now that Kingsley was imposing all these absurd rules on everyone at the Ministry.</p><p>“You heard me,” Harry said and smirked to Patrick, who did not look amused at the situation in the slightest, “have fun with the permission slips,” he added as he got up from the chair and started making his way towards the door. He didn’t hear one objection coming from his friend’s direction, so he just announced, “Cheers,” before leaving in a swish of his robes, before he could hear a complaint, or more unbearably, a thank you.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Friday, 4 July, 2008</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Hermione,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m writing to you to let you know that I’m going for a holiday for a while. I’ve taken my leaves from the Ministry, but I don’t know how much of that I’ll be gone. You’ll think I’m mad when I tell you that I’m going to Italy to find Malfoy, it’s just something I have to do. Don’t worry about me too much.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wish me luck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Best,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Friday, 4 July, 2008</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Harry,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t think you’re mad, I hope you find what you’re searching for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Luck has been wished.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Best,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Signore Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The portkey spat Harry out with a twisting stomach and his head spinning. He had never travelled this far before, and he felt like he was going to vomit from the seemingly endless churning of the journey. The portkey had taken him to a coastal town in Italy whose name Harry didn’t know how to pronounce. He had ended up in a shaded alley as to not been seen by muggles, and he sat down on the pavement next to his bag, having to take several deep breaths to settle his swirling stomach. Only after some minutes of leaning onto a cold stone wall, he was able to lift his head to take a look around.</p><p>The alley he was in sloped steeply downwards on his right, and on the left, it was uphill to the nearest street. Harry could smell the strong scent of the ocean, like salt and algae, floating through the air. He heard seagulls screeching not very far from where he was sitting on the cold pavement. It was late morning, and the warm humid air caressed Harry’s skin and hair. He was glad he wasn’t wearing his robes, mainly because he wanted to seem like any regular muggle, and now he was grateful for the choice. The previous day, Harry had visited some common clothing stores to acquire summer attire, something that had turned out to be quite the smart move. He was wearing jean shorts paired with a black V-necked tee, and old sneakers he almost never used.</p><p>Slowly, Harry stood up and grabbed his bag, which was disproportionately heavy compared to its size. He had performed a simple Undetectable Extension Charm on his rucksack, and was now flinging it on his shoulder with difficulty. He dragged the bag and himself uphill towards the sunny street. He could hear people lazily making their way up and down the paved lane, and cursed that he couldn’t simply float his belongings with him.</p><p>Harry stepped into the sunlight of the street, and was almost blinded by the brightness. He had to shade his face with his hand, and even so, it took him a few moments to get used to the light. When he could finally make out what was happening around him, he saw only a handful of people, some climbing upwards to the right, and some making their way down to the left. He saw that the people were wearing what looked like robes, and one was carrying a small cauldron filled with vegetables. One woman had an owl sitting on her shoulder as she was cycling down the street. So, it must have been a wizarding area, then. Come to think of it, of course it had to be a wizarding area, since Malfoy was keeping his shop there. Harry shook his head to himself, and kept dragging his rucksack on his shoulder.</p><p>The street was wide and paved with stones that were worn smooth. Harry checked the street name on the nearby building, and was happy to notice that he had arrived in the right place. He started to make his way slightly uphill, and was curiously looking at the buildings on both sides. They looked very old, and their paint had started to crack near the corners and windows. The stone houses were painted white, peach, light blue, all kinds of pale colours that were all somehow in harmony with each other. The buildings looked like private homes, and their wooden shutters were wide open to let in the gentle sea breeze. Flowers had been put up in the windows, and their sweet smell wafted into Harry's nose.</p><p>The sun was already high, and it was burning Harry’s back as he walked the now steady street. As he was admiring the houses to his left, he caught a glimpse of the glimmering sea in between the buildings. He hadn’t realized how high he was on the mountain, and couldn’t resist the urge to cross the boulevard and walk in between the houses, just to get a better look of the stunning view that was now unfolding itself in front of him. Harry went down some steps he knew he would have to go up again, and stopped to stand on a platform, not able to take his eyes off the brightly flickering water. The coast curved on his left to form a bay filled with large yachts and ships, the beach shimmering with white sand and dotted with colourful sunshades. It was breathtaking, nothing like he’d ever seen before.</p><p>After reluctantly making his way back up the stairs and taking a left again, Harry found himself standing on a small, round plaza. There was a modest fountain in the middle, the statue distantly resembling a phoenix, but looking at it quickly, it could have been any bird. The water from its beak was flowing peacefully, gently rippling in the pool at the bottom. On the other side of the square, the street continued into what seemed to be a forest of sorts, with tall green trees towering behind the houses surrounding Harry. He knew he was in the right place when he gave a glimpse at the buildings around him, they were all stores of sorts, stores whose names he couldn’t pronounce, and even if he could, wouldn’t know what they meant. One of them seemed to sell cauldrons, another was specialized in magical pets, one just looked like a regular corner store.</p><p>However, the one Harry was looking for, was on the side of the sea. It was a yellow building of at least three stories, with a modest black iron sign hanging from the wall. It didn’t have large windows or a fancy marquis at the front. Harry’s heart suddenly sped up, when he realized how close to Malfoy he was. This was it, this was the place. What if it was a bad time? How utterly humiliating it would be if this wouldn’t go right. His hand reached to twist the cool doorknob, heart pounding. Malfoy could be behind this very door, what would Harry say? He realized he had not rehearsed this at all, what would it be like? Would they run to embrace each other, or would Malfoy act like nothing had happened? Harry took a deep breath and opened the door. A bell chimed above him.</p><p>The store was dim, and for a moment, Harry couldn’t see anything, coming from the bright light of day. There were many smallish windows letting in daylight, illuminating the room. The store was modest in size, and it smelled like sage and something else Harry didn't necessarily care to place. The room was cool, apparently the thick stone walls kept the heat at bay, Harry was glad to get away from the heat. When his eyes got used to the dark, Harry could make out the shelves upon shelves of boxes and jars, all neatly arranged on the walls, with names and prices marked clearly. Facing the door, there was a small counter, and two doors, one of which was open.</p><p>“Buon giorno!” Harry heard a sound coming from behind the counter and his heart leapt. He quickly turned to peer at whoever had just talked. A smallish man with a thick body and a very prominent nose appeared behind the counter, he seemed to be standing on some sort of a footstool. He must have been half elf to be that short. His eyes were friendly and he was measuring Harry up and down, waiting on his response.</p><p>Unfortunately, Harry didn’t know any Italian, so he started to stutter something out in English, “Er, sorry, I’m, er, looking for Draco Malfoy? Do you know him?” he felt awkward standing there, in the middle of the room, hoping that the store clerk would understand what he was saying. Why hadn't he brought a dictionary or something? He realized that he might have made a mistake coming to the place, beautiful as it was, he seemed to have forgotten some essential things, like that Italians spoke Italian.</p><p>“Ahh, sì, signore Malfoy,” an expression of recognition spread on the man’s face, “he is out now, will be back, eh, soon,” he smiled at Harry very politely. Harry gave a sigh of relief, maybe it would be alright after all, although he was dying of nervousness to see the man again. This was not some visit that he could cover up with saying that he was on Ministry business, or some other sort. Soon enough he would have to own up to the fact that he was here to see Malfoy, and him alone.</p><p>“Thank you, er, should I wait here or…?” Harry was unsure what to do, he was shuffling his feet a bit, leaning from one side to the other. Admittedly, he was a bit disappointed that Malfoy hadn’t been at the shop himself, but also acknowledged that he had arrived completely unannounced, to intrude in the man’s life. What if he was with someone? Even more dreadful, what if he was <em>with</em> someone, as in dating somebody else? Be that as it may, there was no turning back now, even though Harry wanted to Disapparate somewhere far away.</p><p>“Sì signore, he will be back soon,” the man said again and nodded firmly. He then stepped down from whatever stool he had been standing on, and went around the counter to look at Harry, he was no taller than the table itself. “You are from England, no?” he inquired, peering up at Harry. He had a grey beard and a thick set of curly hair on his head.</p><p>“Er, yes, from London,” Harry replied, not knowing what to think of the question combined with the man’s inquisitive look. Why did it matter where he was from? Was the clerk trying to make his acquaintance, or evaluating whether he was worthy to meet his employer, co-worker, something of the sorts.</p><p>The man made a grunt of disgust and shook his head disappointedly. “London people, always make boss sad,” he continued to shake his head and went back around the table, but this time took a seat behind it, only his head peering above the counter. When it became clear to Harry that the man wasn’t going to continue, he turned his glance away slowly, and walked over to the shelves. He was weighing the clerk’s utterance in his mind, Malfoy was sad every time he came back from England? It was no wonder, especially back when both of his parents were in prison. Now Harry eyed the abundant selection of ingredients on the shelf, each more peculiar than the last: dragon scales, troll blood, ground up phoenix feathers, even chopped fairy nails. Harry shuddered.</p><p>“Your boss…” Harry started hesitantly, walking along the wall, looking at the numerous jars, boxes, baskets, and petri dishes filled with the oddest sorts of potion ingredients, “how long have you worked here?” he inquired. Had Malfoy hired him as an employee, or was he just part of the shop?</p><p>“Since I was a boy!” the man yelped, “Signore, many years.” He must have known lots about potion-making then, because he looked like he was approaching retirement age twice over.</p><p>“Even before Malfoy bought this place?” Harry asked redundantly, probably more to make discussion, instead of just standing there, browsing the shelves endlessly. He didn’t even know what half of the stuff was used for, he hadn’t been very good at potions. Unlike Malfoy, Snape’s favourite. Harry remembered their first ever potions class, where Snape had taken a liking to Malfoy. Harry had hated it back then, but in hindsight, he thought Snape would have been proud of Malfoy now. Proud of making something of himself.</p><p>“Sì, yes, my old boss died, very old, I owned shop for a small time, but, signore Malfoy a good boss, very good boss,” the man was nodding determinedly behind the counter. So, Malfoy was a good boss to him then, Harry didn’t know what to think about it. He had always known Malfoy as an arrogant, cold git, though lately he had had to add many more things to his profile in his mind. Cold git, shop owner, a good boss, skilled at potions, great kisser, an even better shag, so far. Harry hoped to know more.</p><p>Then there was a chime of the bell above the door. Harry spun around to look in the doorway, heart suddenly beating very fast again, so fast he could feel it in his throat. But the sun outside was too bright for him to make out who it was. Was it Malfoy? Was it a customer? Should Harry panic or not? There was a shiver in his spine, perhaps caused by the chillness of the room, but more likely by the observation that the sunlight hitting the person’s hair made it shine white.</p><p>“Signore Malfoy, you have a visitor!” the man exclaimed and gestured towards Harry, and Harry realized he had never gotten his name, how rude of him. Though right now, little other mattered than the way in which Malfoy’s silvery eyes met Harry’s. Harry’s eyes were locked with his, his palms sweaty and his arm hair risen up in gooseflesh. Even though he had come all this way to see the man, Harry still felt utterly unprepared to actually face him now. Malfoy was carrying a brown grocery bag on his arm, and another, smaller plastic bag in his other hand, but now, he had stopped in his tracks when he had caught sight of Harry.</p><p>“Malfoy–“ Harry started, his voice so quiet it was practically a whisper. The man looked completely different from what he had back in England, and still so stunning. He was wearing beige slacks and a loose white linen shirt, his skin was sun kissed, only a memory of his pale complexion, and his hair had turned completely golden. His hair was longer, too, ruffled by the salty wind, and he was modelling a short stubble.</p><p>“Potter,” Malfoy replied, not coldly, just, out of habit, it sounded, “I… what are you doing here?” he asked, looking confused to say the least. Harry didn’t know what he had been expecting, but the way Malfoy inquired why he was there, it caught him off guard. He assumed that they would both know why he was there. Malfoy had written about it to his own mother in a letter for Merlin’s sakes. His eyes were now measuring Harry like he couldn’t believe they were standing in the same room together. Truth be told, Harry really couldn’t really believe it either. He wondered what Malfoy saw, was his hair a mess? Did he have something on his face? Were his glasses crooked on his nose? He suddenly felt very self-conscious, and had to suppress the urge to start smoothing out his hair.</p><p>“I had to see you,” Harry replied firmly, not moving his gaze away. It was the truth, but more importantly, it was what the man had said to Harry when he came to see him that night. <em>I couldn't leave without seeing you,</em> to be specific. Harry remembered, he remembered everything about that night. Even the little kiss Malfoy had planted in his hair just before he dozed off. How he wished they could go back to that time, not this horrible awkward tension that had returned between them. Harry didn’t want to go back to tiptoeing around the very thing they both knew was there – he was here, in Italy, to see Malfoy, and that was the end of it.</p><p>Malfoy just nodded, “Right, well, you best come on in then,” he said plainly, and then moved his attention to his store clerk, “Moretti, you can close early today if you like, it seems to be slow, must be the heat.” Then he made his way to the closed door that was next to what seemed to be the door to the back room, and opened it with the hand that was carrying the smaller plastic bag. Behind the wooden door, there was a bright staircase upwards, the steps constructed of orange tiles, and the walls were painted a warm colour Harry couldn’t quite place.</p><p>“Sì, signor, grazie mille,” said the clerk, Moretti, and was nodding eagerly at Malfoy, who was already ascending the staircase, still holding the bags. Harry gave a polite smile at the man behind the counter, and then hurried after Malfoy, closing the door behind them. The staircase was narrow, but bright, and soon Harry found out why. When they reached the first floor, he noticed that there were windows to every direction from the platform. But what was more stunning, were the enormous glass doors in the living room, displaying the breathtaking view of the sea and the bay, with nothing obstructing the view. Harry dropped his very heavy rucksack on the ground and made his way past the sofas to stand in front of the view.</p><p>“It’s quite impressive,” Malfoy’s voice made Harry startle, and he turned to Draco, who was putting the groceries away in the kitchen. Harry realized that he was standing in a living room, with two very comfortable looking sofas, a coffee table, and a fireplace, all directed at looking out to the sea. To his right, Harry saw a bookcase and his rucksack lying on the ground, abandoned. The orange tile continued throughout the floor, and repeated itself in the details of the walls, like the archway that led into the kitchen. There was only a low wall separating the living room from the kitchen, and Harry was now slowly approaching Malfoy.</p><p>To call the view impressive was an understatement, and Harry could only produce a quick nod at the comment. He had something else to say than to talk about the view, although he did want to sit on the small balcony and just soak in the sun that seemed so prominent compared to that of Britain. “I’m sorry if it’s a bad time–“ Harry started, looking at Malfoy arranging some very plump tomatoes in one decorative fruit basket, and some juicy looking grapefruits in another. He was almost dumbfounded by how different Malfoy seemed here, he was wearing different clothes, he was calmer, just arranging his fruit in his little kitchen in Italy. It was sunny outside, birds were chirping, seagulls were screeching, it didn’t seem like anyone could have a care in the world here.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Malfoy interrupted him, waving his comment away, but not looking at Harry, “it’s been a while since I’ve had visitors,” he said, running his hand through his hair and leaning on his kitchen counter before making a careful glance in Harry’s way. He seemed… nervous, in a peculiar way. Harry didn't know his presence could have such an effect. “Er, there’s a guest room, facing the stairs, I assume you’ll at least stay the night?” Malfoy gestured to Harry’s right-hand side, where they had just appeared from downstairs. <em>Guest room?</em> Harry was confused by the distant cordiality of Malfoy. He hadn’t expected the welcome to be this… formal. He had either expected that the man would tell him that it wasn’t a good time and that he didn’t care about him anymore, or, most preferably, that they’d sleep in the same bed together. Maybe he was gearing up to let Harry down, maybe he just didn’t want to do it now.</p><p>“Thanks, er, what’s upstairs?” Harry asked, looking at the other staircase, next to the first one, leading into the second floor. He went to pick up his bag and swung it over his shoulder once more, with some awkwardness.</p><p>“It’s just my bedroom,” Malfoy said almost too nonchalantly for it to be natural. Harry nodded in order to bypass the reply as swiftly as possible. He then carried his stuff to the small guest room. There was a double bed there, and a closet, the window displayed a view to the plaza. A door led to a bathroom with light blue towels neatly folded onto a shelf. Harry threw his bag on the ground, and checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked passable, but still performed a quick cleaning spell on himself. Then he returned to the living room.</p><p>“Hungry?” Malfoy asked simply, already taking ingredients out of his cupboards. Harry then realized that he was in fact starving, he hadn’t slept almost at all the previous night, and had been much too nervous to eat enough for breakfast. He nodded, maybe too eagerly. He was a bit surprised when Malfoy started chopping up some tomatoes by hand, not using magic. Harry had assumed that he’d at least have a house elf to perform such mundane tasks as cooking. But there he was, peeling an onion, like a muggle if Harry’d ever seen one. “Would you mind putting the kettle on?” the man said, not lifting his gaze from his cutting board. Harry felt almost ashamed for not offering to help in the first place. He was too mesmerized by this new Malfoy now presenting himself to him.</p><p>They cooked quietly, only the sounds of pots and pans clanging together, and the smell of fresh basil and olive oil in the air. Harry could have eaten a horse by the time the food was ready, that’s how hungry he was. They sat down, and Harry had to hold back to preserve his table manners, not sure how Malfoy usually went about his dining. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Harry, and Harry took it as a go-ahead, starting to wolf down his pasta. Almost, at least. It was delicious.</p><p>They ate in silence, and only when Harry was helping to wash the dishes, did Malfoy speak at last, “So, er… have you been to Italy before?” He was drying off their plates with a blue and white tea cloth, and putting everything away.</p><p>Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by the question. “No, I haven’t,” he replied, “never been outside the UK, actually.” It felt like a confession for some reason. He’d never been abroad. When he was little, he should’ve been so lucky as to accompany Petunia to the grocery store. The Dursley’s hardly travelled, and even so, they would have never, ever brought Harry with them.</p><p>“Right,” said Draco, and then he was quiet for some minutes, before continuing, “so why are you here to see me, exactly?” He put the last fork in its place in the kitchen drawer, and Harry almost dropped the kitchen towel he was drying his hands on. Why did Malfoy always have to make everything harder than it was? Harry hadn’t prepared for questions like this, he thought it would have been obvious why he had travelled to another country to see Malfoy. Now he found himself unable to articulate the exact reason.</p><p>“Oh, er, just how things were left between us,” he tried to shrug nonchalantly, but it felt more like a twist of his shoulders. There was no way the man didn't already know the answer, why was he tormenting Harry? It was more likely that he knew, but couldn’t once again bring himself to discuss it, so he left Harry to do all the hard work.</p><p>“You couldn’t just have owled me?” Malfoy asked, incredulously, now leaning on to the counter, his arms crossed on his chest, eyes measuring Harry in a very uncomfortable way. Harry was still astounded by how different Draco looked, his golden hair casually swiped behind his ear, his neat stubble framing his face. Harry had a very sudden urge to just kiss him, for Malfoy to hold his waist and kiss him back gently. Just the two of them. But Harry was afraid that he’d turn away, say that he wasn’t okay with it, that it was inappropriate, that he was with someone else already.</p><p>“I… I wasn’t sure if you’d reply,” Harry heard himself say, and felt embarrassed right away. If Malfoy wouldn’t have answered him, it would have probably meant that he didn’t want to hear from him, be in contact with him. So, essentially, Harry had come to Malfoy’s home to harass him, because he was afraid of being avoided. He clearly hadn’t thought through whatever plan he had thought he had had.</p><p>“Right,” was the only thing Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows and looking away again, before pushing himself away from the counter and walking over to the living room, Harry on his coattails. The man plopped down on the smaller sofa, and picked up a book from the plastic bag he had been carrying earlier. The sun outside was still shining determinedly, but it looked too hot to go out. Harry was looking around the apartment, he was surprised to find it quite cosy, with many small plants and books lying about. There was even a salt lamp, Harry hadn’t the faintest clue why or how he knew what it was. There were no pictures, though, besides one smallish portrait of just Draco and Narcissa, taken perhaps around when he had started school. It was on a side table, next to a Dittany. How funny that they both had the same plant. In that moment, Harry remembered that he hadn’t asked for anyone to look after his plants, though he hardly had any. Maybe they would survive a few weeks, hopefully. Hopefully he wouldn’t be back too soon, though.</p><p>Harry sat down on the other, longer, sofa, and eyed the book Malfoy was holding. He couldn’t see the full title, but it had something to do with rare potions, was Malfoy working? Was he just researching potions and their ingredients every day? Or did he just read such books for fun? Harry wasn’t in the mood to present such questions, he felt that the moment wasn’t quite right. “You should rest,” Malfoy said to the book, “you look tired, it’s siesta now anyway.” It was a what now?</p><p>However, as soon as Malfoy had said that, Harry realized how heavy his limbs felt. Perhaps a little lie down wouldn’t hurt, maybe he would then have the energy to be eventually kicked out by Malfoy. Harry carefully stretched out on the sofa, kicking his shoes off, and pressing his head on the cushion. Maybe he wasn’t that tired, after all. But when he closed his eyes, he didn’t even notice how the screeches of the seagulls were rapidly fading away, before dozing off into a deep slumber.</p><p>Harry woke up with a startle. It felt as though no time had passed, while simultaneously his body felt as stiff as if he had been sleeping for three days straight. He sat up, not knowing where he was or why he was there. He looked at the sofa and his shoes on the ground confusedly, while slowly coming to. He sat up entirely now, and felt a warm breeze on his face, smelling of seawater. The door to the balcony was open, and the sun had dropped considerably from when he had fallen asleep. What time was it?</p><p>Harry noticed that there was a plate of chopped watermelon on the coffee table, with a toothpick sticking out of it, and a glass of orange juice. Harry frowned at it, and noticed that Malfoy was sitting out on the balcony, now reading a different book, and making notes in it. His back was turned, and he looked deep in thought, while occasionally lifting his gaze to look at the hilly landscape. Harry turned his attention back to the plate in front of him, and a dry sensation in the back of his throat let him know that he was thirsty. He had one piece of watermelon, and another, and another. It was juicy and sweet, and somehow it had stayed cool and refreshing on the table. Soon the plate was empty, and Harry reached for the orange juice, it was rich in flavour and full of pulp, Malfoy had probably squeezed it himself. Harry gulped down the tall glass and couldn’t help smacking his lips after. He felt a tad better already, less froggy from his nap.</p><p>Now Harry got up from the sofa, and carefully made his way onto the balcony. Malfoy had clearly heard him coming, because he lowered his book and gave a glance in his direction. “Good evening, how was your nap?” he asked, turning back to look at the view that now unfolded itself in front of Harry. The early sunset was painting the bay golden, the water reflecting the shades of yellow and orange. There was not one cloud in the sky, and the gradient from the fierce orange of the horizon to the light blue of the sky was magnificent.</p><p>Harry took a seat in the other chair on the balcony. “Good, er, how long was I asleep?” it felt as though he had been unconscious for hours on end, he hadn’t woken up once, not even to change position on the sofa. His body felt heavy, even though the fruit in his stomach was now waking up his system again. He felt awkward thanking Malfoy for presenting him with all this food, and just hoped that he knew he was grateful for the gesture.</p><p>“Oh, about four hours,” Malfoy said casually, and returned to his book again. <em>Four hours?</em> Harry had been asleep for four fucking hours, in the middle of the day. On another thought, it was probably sleep he desperately needed, and Malfoy obviously didn’t seem to mind, so maybe he wasn’t in a hurry to turn Harry down just yet. Now Harry was just sitting in the wooden chair, looking at the scenery, barely any thoughts inside his head, it was blissful.</p><p>“How did you end up here?” Harry asked after a while. There was no way a place like this could have been found by purpose.</p><p>Malfoy sighed and put his book down, “Well, if you must know, I didn’t come here straight away,” he said, giving a long look at the sea, “after the trials, and after the Ministry took over the Mansion, I knew I couldn’t stay in England, so I travelled around. First, I went to France, worked at a potions shop for a while, and I liked it, but I felt like it wasn’t far enough, so I left for America. I lived in New York for a few months, but it was too busy, reminded me too much of London. I knew I wanted to be somewhere that was as far as possible in resemblance with home. It was just a coincidence, really, how I ended up here. I was making my way through Southern Europe, and I was just stopping by here, when I heard that a little potions shop was for sale. The owner had died, the old hag. I came by the place, met Moretti, felt like he was a stand-up bloke, I made the deal the same day. I have to admit I used my parents’ money for it, never had that much of my own, but I figured that they won’t be using it any time soon.”</p><p>Harry was listening to Malfoy intently, measuring his face with his gaze. Harry didn’t he’d ever heard the man talk as long as he had just now, but he liked it. He liked learning new things about him, getting to know him, just being with him. At that moment, Harry felt very peaceful, sitting there, a warm breeze ruffling his hair and caressing his face, a faint taste of orange still in his mouth, even the birds had suddenly quieted down. “What’s it like?” Harry asked, “Owning your own business?” he had never taken Malfoy as the lazy kind, but having your own shop had to have its challenges.</p><p>Now the man snorted and gave an amused side glance at Harry. “It was mayhem at first,” he shook his head to himself, “but Moretti showed me the ropes, despite our little language barrier, it’s fine now.” Malfoy went silent, it didn’t seem like he was going to continue, even though Harry could have listened to him talk for hours. Now Harry wondered if Malfoy knew Italian, and how absolutely lovely it would be if Harry ever happened to catch him taking with Moretti, or anyone, in the local language.</p><p>“Do you like it?” Harry heard himself ask. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, mainly because job opportunities for someone like Malfoy were probably not abundant, and he didn’t want to push it in case it got revealed that he didn’t like it. One reason for the question, though, might have been the fact that Harry was still thinking that Malfoy should take the job at Hogwarts, he was absolutely meant for it, but if the man had found his passion as a shopkeeper, then there was little to do about the matter.</p><p>“What’s with all the questions, Potter?” Malfoy said suddenly, his voice harsh. He had turned in his chair to look at Harry challengingly.</p><p>Harry was taken aback, he didn’t realize he had been imposing on something private, if that indeed was the case. “Sorry, er,” he stammered, “I just feel like I know so little about you nowadays,” he confessed, not knowing where the sudden bout of honesty had come from. Perhaps he felt that he had nothing to lose with the man anymore, so he might as well just tell the truth. In school he had known Malfoy, at least enough to hate the git, but now, this new Draco was still mostly a big mystery to Harry, and he wanted to know more.</p><p>“So…” Malfoy started, sounding a tad puzzled, “you’re trying to get to know me?” he asked perplexedly. It sounded as though he couldn’t believe he was making such a preposterous claim.</p><p>“Er, yes,” Harry confirmed. He wanted to know Malfoy, wanted to know the man he already fancied for some Merlin forsaken reason.</p><p>“Oh,” answered the man simply, chewing on his bottom lip, frowning, “don’t think anyone’s ever wanted to do that before,” he said after a moment of silence between them. Harry realized that it was probably true – all the people around Malfoy at school were with him because of his family’s influence, but that was also the thing that probably prevented him from making any real friends, one misstep and they could be expelled, their family fired from their jobs. Draco didn’t have such power anymore, all that was left was himself, something that Harry was very much interested in, and not afraid of.</p><p>Now they sat in silence, both chewing on the last words uttered, looking at the scenery absentmindedly. Even when setting, Harry could feel the sunrays warming his face, and felt regretful for never thinking about travelling. All these years, he could have seen places like this, places that were different, where life had a different pace. Somewhere where people didn’t know who he was, where the weight of the world was a little lighter. Somewhere like this. If Malfoy was never willing to move back to England, maybe Harry could move here, maybe they had an opening at the Italian Ministry, he could pick up the language, maybe. Granted things should ever work between them. Harry wanted for them to work, he didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t.</p><p>When Malfoy spoke, Harry was startled out of his thoughts once again. “We should go out,” the man said, and before Harry could get any ideas that were beside the point, he specified, “on the town, it’s always busy on Saturday night,” he turned to look at Harry, “come on, I’ll show you around.” His eyes were piercing through Harry, and even if he had wanted to say no, he couldn’t have. A night out on the town, just the two of them, who knows what could happen?</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Aphrodite's Fountain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry was staring at his reflection in the mirror of the guest bathroom. He had been going over the contents of his bag, and realized that he hadn’t packed anything nice to wear. In the midst of leaving, he hadn’t even thought about the possibility that they would actually go on a date, if this even was one. Was this a date? They were going out together, was that a definition of a date? Whatever it was, Harry was underdressed for it. The only thing with collars he’d packed was a wrinkled denim shirt, which he had managed to iron, after minutes of rummaging around his brain, trying to remember the correct spell, that wouldn’t turn the piece of clothing green, or accidentally wash it. So, Harry was wearing a white tee, over which he had thrown the denim shirt, unbuttoned, paired with some new black jeans and the sneakers he had on before. The only shoes that he’d brought.</p><p>It wasn’t hot in the house, but it was warmer than what Harry was used to, and he was already breaking a sweat from the hot air of the hair drying spell. Harry thought he looked… passable. He had done his hair very carefully, shaved closely, and now he was evaluating the result through a very clean mirror. Harry had even brought a toothbrush, which he had now hopefully placed next to a water glass already in the bathroom. Maybe he would stay for a while.</p><p>“He cleans up well, who would’ve known?” Harry spun around when hearing Malfoy’s voice from behind him. He had appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, Harry hadn’t even heard him coming down the stairs. Harry wasn’t sure what the man meant by ‘cleaning up’, since Harry didn’t think he looked very different from usual. The same couldn’t be said for Malfoy: he had shaved, already looking much more like his former self, his hair was styled back, and he was wearing a neat dark blue button-down, tucked in his black slacks, which also made him resemble, well, himself, much more. Harry didn’t feel like he was with a stranger anymore. And the man looked good, really fucking good.</p><p>“Er, thanks,” Harry said awkwardly, desperately trying to figure out how to return Malfoy’s careful compliment, “you too.” Maybe it was too obvious a reply, but the man seemed to take it well, at least he was not rejecting Harry’s cautious attempt at approaching him. It was definitely a start.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Malfoy asked, extending his arm, and it took Harry a second to realize that it was in offer of a side-Apparition. Harry was still a tad groggy from his long nap, and reckoned that Apparition would probably make him feel worse, but he swallowed any argument he might have had, and grabbed Malfoy’s arm firmly. The last thing before they sent off swirling through space, was Harry’s realization that he could feel the man’s bicep under the shirt.</p><p>They arrived at a side-alley of a busy street. A promenade. The sounds overwhelmed Harry for a second, after the silence of the house, even though his ears were a bit clogged from the Apparition. That didn’t usually happen, but he soon realized that it was most likely because of the difference in altitude between Malfoy’s place and the beach. The seagulls were now having a full concerto, taking daring plunges at people’s food. There were hundreds of people strolling the street by the beach front, all painted golden by the setting sun. Someone somewhere was playing the guitar and singing, but mostly the air was filled with people speaking Italian and laughing. It was one of those moments when one forgets all about their problems, for just a second.</p><p>The pair joined the stream of people. Harry’s head was turning left and right in awe, which seemed to amuse Malfoy, though he didn’t say anything. They saw street performers, each more fantastic than the last: there were children dancing, a person making magnificent paintings of the setting sun and of the people, and Harry could swear that somewhere in the distance, he saw an entire sword disappear down a man’s throat. The warm wind was getting cooler, making it more comfortable for people to be outside, spending their summer weekend with their friends. Harry thought of how much he wanted to bring Ron and Hermione here, and little Rosie.</p><p>Malfoy bought both of them tall glasses of something red and alcoholic, with a slice of orange floating in the transparent cup and bubbles rising to the top. The drink was sweet and strong, and made Harry’s feet numb and his head buzzing. It was wonderful. From the corner of his eye, Harry couldn’t help noticing the glances Malfoy was giving him from behind his drink. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making Harry see things. They sat on a low stone wall, that was made to separate the beach from the promenade, and watched the sun disappear behind the horizon.</p><p>“Are all of these people muggles?” Harry asked, while holding the almost empty cup in his hand. The sun had set, but that only seemed to lure more people out of their homes and into the city. Now there were crowds that had already perhaps had too much to drink, and were wobbling along the street into one direction or other. There were couples walking on the seemingly endless beach on the still hot sand, holding hands. Harry thought how carefree life could be, and didn’t want to think about his own work. It seemed like ages ago that he had last been there, though it was only the day before.</p><p>“Most people are,” Malfoy replied, and set his cup beside him on the wall, “the magical folk here are not as separated from muggles as they are back in England, they live quite normal lives, not as worried about who is different than another.” He looked contemplative, chewing on his lower lip. Harry thought about how adamantly Lucius, along with the other pure-blood families, and Voldemort himself, had been about lineage and pure wizarding blood. How had his time influenced this place? Had the joyful people of this town ever even known about Voldemort? About the horrors that had occurred? Perhaps not, and perhaps that was exactly why Malfoy wanted to be here, living among the people in ignorant bliss.</p><p>“How did you feel when you got your Hogwarts letter?” Harry asked. It seemed like such a regular occurrence to magical children, kind of like getting your tax returns as a muggle, expected yet pleasant, that he hadn't heard many stories about it. But he wanted to hear the normal version of getting one’s letter, the one that doesn’t include someone taking off with their entire family to avoid Dumbledore’s power.</p><p>Now Malfoy shrugged, not seeming surprised about the question, but not very intrigued about it either. “It was normal, a bit late in my father’s opinion, came with the mail one day, mother was pleased, she wanted me to go to Hogwarts anyway.” Harry thought back to his first encounter with Malfoy, in Madam Malkin’s, when he had been shopping with Hagrid, and Malfoy had had his robes fitted. What an insufferable git he had been. “I suppose your horrid aunt and uncle were glad to be rid of you?” Malfoy asked in return, and Harry couldn’t hold back a snort.</p><p>When the man looked at Harry in distaste, Harry cleared his throat, and quickly tried to give a description of all the mad precautions Vernon had taken to prevent Harry from ever getting his hands on that letter. How he had slept at the bottom of the stairs in order to get the mail first, and get rid of the increasing amounts of the letters from Hogwarts. How he nailed the letterbox shut, and how he finally had enough and moved them all to a remote lighthouse, where Hagrid ultimately fetched Harry from. How the muggle news reported about the recent strange behaviour of the nation’s owls, all carrying a letter just for Harry. Malfoy’s expression went from amusement to disbelief, and to downright disgust. By the end of it, he was shaking his head vigorously, “I swear, Potter, every story I hear about your relatives is worse than the last,” he huffed.</p><p>Harry let out a dry laugh and shook his head. “You’ve only heard two stories, and I lived with them until I was seventeen, believe me when I tell you that you haven’t heard anything yet,” he gave a Malfoy a bashful glance from the corner of his eye, and saw the man quickly look away from him, as in a reflex. He noticed that Harry had seen the rushed twist of his head, and turned to look at him again. His expression was vexed but curious, like he was fighting an inner battle of wanting to know more, but not wanting to make Harry relive memories that might be painful. Harry appreciated his silence, but was glad to be talking about the Dursley’s with someone, convince himself that he wasn’t crazy thinking that they were horrible.</p><p>Now Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. “How the hell did Dumbledore leave you with these absolute monsters?” his tone was baffled, and he was staring into the middle distance, like he was trying to place Harry into all of these scenarios in his head that he’d learnt.</p><p>“Well,” Harry started, thinking about how to phrase the logic Dumbledore had had at the time, “he believed that, since aunt Petunia was my mum’s sister, it would somehow protect me from Voldemort, you know, through her sacrifice.” Harry hated saying that, he hated saying that his mum had sacrificed herself. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true, but Harry was so sick of everyone having to risk their lives for him for so many years, Lily being the very first one.</p><p>“Ah,” Malfoy replied simply, and stared at the pink and violet shades of the horizon now colouring the night sky. They were both quiet for a while. Harry was wondering whether Petunia’s presence ever protected him from Voldemort, or whether the fact that he had lived with the foul lot was for nothing. He wanted to believe it was for something, something other than getting a flimsy roof over his head, and food occasionally. He wanted to believe it was worth losing his childhood over. Well, not his whole childhood, he had good times once he got to Hogwarts, and met Ron, and Hermione.</p><p>Now Harry shook himself out of his lousy thoughts, he didn’t want to make their presumed date miserable just yet. “Well, no need to dwell on the past,” he said, and it seemed to pull Malfoy out of whatever inner journey he had been on, because now he turned to look at Harry again, “besides, I think I got my revenge when I blew up uncle Vernon’s sister, by accident of course, the Ministry somehow caught her flying in the sky afterwards, had to Obliviated that ghastly toad,” Harry shrugged, and then, a very miraculously rare thing happened. Harry heard Malfoy crack up, let out an uncontained laugh, like a violent snort. He couldn’t believe it. The two were looking at each other, smiling, laughter bubbling inside of them. Malfoy’s grey eyes were locked with Harry’s, and in that instant, Harry wanted to take Malfoy’s hand, to kiss him, do something. It made his stomach swirl with excitement and terror.</p><p>The moment was over too quickly. There was a burst of loud laugher somewhere near them, and Harry reflexively turned to look, which caused Malfoy to turn away his gaze. Harry was disappointed, but glad that they still had a whole night ahead of them, more drinks to have, more places to see, more time to spend with the man he was apparently falling in love with, who did not seem like he was going to throw Harry out of his house. “Right, should we eat something then?” Malfoy asked, and Harry agreed.</p><p>They got up from where they had been sitting on the wall, and started to make their way away from the beach and towards the vibrant centre. The streets were narrow but flat, and again, Harry didn’t know where to look – his head was turning upwards to see the drying laundry hung above the tall streets, black against the blue night sky, he looked at the stores that were still open, corner stores, restaurants, tourist shops, even some florists. Everyone was sitting out in front of cafes and bars, even though it was getting late, and they looked like they had barely started dining. People were laughing and chatting loudly, someone was telling a story for a table of twelve, waiters in white shirts were mingling among the tables, the piles of empty glasses swaying high in the air on their trays. The atmosphere was lively and light, people walking up and down the streets, scooters speeding down the narrow alleys, honking at people who were too slow to move away from their path.</p><p>When Harry least expected it, Malfoy stopped him. They were standing on a passageway, with only a handful of people walking through it. Some were going somewhere, some only strolling about the town. Harry wouldn’t have known there to be a restaurant if it hadn’t been pointed out to him. It was a small trattoria, where they had to take a few steps downwards to be at the floor level. There were only a few tables, but they were all full. It didn’t seem they had another floor in the establishment. The tables all had red and white tablecloths, and the floor was made of slate. The ceiling was relatively low, and if one was not careful, they might hit their head on the wide archway connecting the two rooms of the restaurant.</p><p>“Signore Malfoy!” A short, plump man with grey curly hair and a black button down with a matching apron was making his way towards them. His face was red from the heat of the room, but he seemed cheerful to see Malfoy. “Back so soon? Ah, I see you bring a date, I like it, I like it,” the man was nodding eagerly, already motioning them to follow him. Harry couldn’t help noticing how Malfoy didn’t correct him about them being on a date.</p><p>“Signore Bianchi, you know I can’t resist your cooking,” Malfoy answered very warmly, like talking to a relative. They followed mister Bianchi to the back of the restaurant, where he somehow managed to come up with two chairs and a small table for the two. He fished a matchbox out of his pocket, and lit the small candle in the middle, all the while smiling at Malfoy very widely.</p><p>“The usual for you? And boyfriend?” he inquired eagerly, eyebrows raised, while the two were sitting down on the table. Mister Bianchi was really doing all of Harry’s work for him what it came to trying to… get to the point, of the date, although Harry swore that he wouldn’t comment on the boyfriend remark. He would just let it sit, especially since Malfoy wasn’t quick to reject the assumption, either.</p><p>“Yes please, red for both, and a bottle of sparkling water, please,” Malfoy said and flashed the man a polite smile. He returned the gesture and disappeared into the kitchen. Even though the man looked more like himself tonight, Harry couldn’t place his behaviour with anything he’d ever seen or experienced before. Malfoy was pleasant. People knew him, he was nice to others.</p><p>“So… you come here often, then?” Harry asked, trying to tread lightly.</p><p>“More than I’d like to admit,” Malfoy raised his eyebrows quickly, “I came here the first time I ever visited this place, best pizza I’ve ever had to this day.” So, they were having pizza then. Harry wondered what else was even on the menu.</p><p>It wasn’t long until a waiter returned with two large glasses of red wine, the contents of which would most likely fill any regular glass to the brim, and a bottle of sparkling water, and glasses for each. No later than Harry had tasted the wine, its flavour jumping around in his mouth after the sweetness of their previous drinks, did mister Bianchi arrive with two plates he placed before them. Harry had never seen such pizza before, it was full from the edges, and yellow with cheese from the middle, with only red and green spots here and there, resembling tomatoes and basil leaves, very far from the flat pies they called pizza in England. It was nothing like Harry had tasted, either, the base was crispy, and the flavour of the cheese and the basil filled his mouth with such delight, that Harry almost laughed when he tasted it. His face must have conveyed the expression, because Malfoy gave him a knowing look, and clinked his glass on Harry’s. Now the red wine complemented the flavours wonderfully.</p><p>Harry had to take a break halfway through, he realized that the people sitting around them were still the same. No one had left or arrived, everyone was sipping on their drinks lazily, talking with each other. Harry realized that dining here wasn’t just about eating, it was about socializing, relaxing, and the food and wine only facilitated that. Harry gave a look in Malfoy’s direction, who was also eyeing the restaurant. “I get it now,” he said suddenly.</p><p>Malfoy turned to look at him, curiously. Harry wasn’t sure why he’d opened his mouth, but it seemed like the thing to do when one was sitting in a restaurant in Italy with someone they very much liked. “I get why you don’t want to leave this place and go back home, Merlin’s beard, <em>I </em>never want to leave, and I’ve only been here for less than a day.” Harry took a large gulp of his water, only to remember that it was carbonated.</p><p>Malfoy chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “You’re right, I don’t want to leave,” he started, “but it’s not because of some pizza and a view. True, those things are better than in England, but, it’s also the anonymity I have here. No one knows my past, they only know the person I choose to be now.” He sipped on his wine and looked at Harry from behind the rim of the glass.</p><p>Harry thought about this for a moment. It was true that everyone back home knew the Malfoy name, and not in the good way. “You can choose to be you in England too you know,” he said, “I’m not trying to force you to come back but, you could clear your name, make it something else than your father did.” Harry wasn’t sure if it was wise to bring Lucius into the conversation, but Malfoy didn’t seem to flinch at the mention of his dad’s name.</p><p>“There’s nothing for me there,” the man said, leaning back in his chair, looking grim, Harry was afraid he had ruined a night that had turned out to be quite wonderful until now, he wasn’t sure why he was compelled to continue on the matter.</p><p>“You have your mother,” he started, “you’d have a job that you’d actually like. I’m sorry if I’m out of line here, that’s just how I see it,” he shook his head as a half-apology, half-disappointment. He might have had selfish reasons to want Malfoy to return to England, but his points stood. Maybe Malfoy could keep the apartment as a vacation home, or something, he wouldn’t have to give it all up just like that.</p><p>“I have a job I like just fine,” Malfoy said quickly, coldly. He sipped on his water and looked away from Harry. It had happened, Harry had managed to ruin a perfectly lovely night with his insatiable need to always stick his nose in other people’s business.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed, and noticed that his pizza didn’t taste as wonderful as it had before. It had gone a bit cold, too. Harry was chewing on the dough that was just rolling around in his mouth, not making its way to his stomach. He hated how insufferable he always had to be.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry,” Malfoy’s response took Harry by surprise, ”I don’t know why I’m like this, I always push everyone away.” He looked positively pained in the face, and Harry felt a very strong wave of pity wash over him. He had another urge to put his hand on top of Malfoy’s, that was lying there on the table, but didn’t think it would be the right time.</p><p>“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” Harry nodded determinedly, and looked at Malfoy, who was staring back at him, looking a tad surprised, but more moved than anything by Harry’s certainty. It was the right time, the right moment, Harry’s heart was beating very fast, as he lifted his hand on the tablecloth, and reached his arm forward, just so that his two fingers were lying on top of Malfoy’s. A tiny gesture of faith. Malfoy didn’t move to look at their hands touching, he just looked at Harry, and there was something incomprehensible in his expression. It looked like he was about to cry and laugh and the same time, or storm out, or propose to Harry at the spot. Unfortunately, it was a bit early for grand gestures, so Harry was resorting to a small one.</p><p>“Well, Potter, I must say that I’m positively touched,” Malfoy said after a while, and pulled his hand from the table to run his fingers through his hair. His tone was perhaps meant to be mocking, but it came out more honest than anything. Harry withdrew his arm off the table and into his lap. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible evening after all.</p><p>After they had eaten, and Harry had insisted he’d get the check, after a long debate with Malfoy, they emerged from the small restaurant back onto the street. It had quieted down, but it seemed that all the people were now gathered in the restaurants. It had become dark outside, and the pair had to rely on streetlights to see where they were going. The Italian night still seemed livelier and more radiant than any British night ever, and the men agreed to walk back to Malfoy’s place instead of Apparating. Harry was full of energy after napping earlier, and didn’t mind a long walk back.</p><p>As soon as they had started to make their way to Malfoy’s place, they found themselves climbing uphill at every turn. They walked through dark, narrow alleys, and deserted squares. It seemed that everyone was gathered at the centre to dine, and the further from it they got, the sparser the bars grew. They were walking on a sideways street towards the sea, when Malfoy opened his mouth: “So what do you know about our schoolmates? What are they doing these days?”</p><p>Harry was a bit taken aback by Malfoy’s sudden interest in people that he used to loathe, maybe he was trying to please Harry. “Er, well, Neville went on to be the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, but you already knew that,” he started hesitantly, and gave a look at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. The man was nodding to himself and Harry took it as a sign to continue, “Hermione’s a lawyer, she’s working at the department of International Magical Cooperation, at the International Magical Office of Law, she and Ron have their second kid on the way,” Harry explained, and couldn't help adding, “I’m the kids’ godfather.” This earned a sideways glance from Malfoy. “Ron works with George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he observed a very quick look of disdain on the man’s face, which he promptly suppressed, and didn't comment on it. Harry felt a need to defend the business, and his friends, “They’re doing very well, mind you, they’re opening a new store in Hogsmeade in the fall.”</p><p>Malfoy raised his hands halfway, “I didn’t say anything,” he defended himself. They took a right turn on another steep street, the houses blocking the view of the sea.</p><p>“But you thought it,” Harry muttered, “look, I know you don’t like Ron, and frankly, he’s not exactly in love with you either, but the Weasleys are good people, no matter what your dad told you about them, they took me in when I didn’t have anyone.” Suddenly Harry felt that the conversation had become very personal, he would defend Molly and Arthur like they were his own parents. They had practically adopted him from the start with their Christmas gifts and family holidays, not to mention that Ron was his best friend.</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry,” Malfoy replied, and gave a bashful look in Harry’s direction, he seemed to regret his automatic aversion towards the Weasleys. It wasn’t his fault, Lucius must have brainwashed him with all kinds of rubbish since he was small. Harry noticed that they were both a tad out of breath from climbing the streets, fortunately they came to a level point, which led them through a well gardened park with streetlights and the sweet scent of flowers wafting through the air.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Harry said softly, as they were walking along the wide path. He decided to tell Malfoy that he was actually the person who gave Fred and George his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament to enable them to start WWW, after the Diggorys refused his offer to give the money to them. Malfoy was astonished at the piece of information, especially hearing how much it was for.</p><p>“Merlin, Potter, you really need a financial consult or something”, he said, shaking his head vigorously.</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, pretending to be offended, “I’ll have you know that I can get anything from the store for free, and George sends me all kinds of stuff!” They now came onto a churchyard, and had to go all the way around it to find another maze of streets of which only some would lead them onwards. They chose the one most to the left.</p><p>“What kind of stuff?” Malfoy asked suddenly.</p><p>Harry felt queasy thinking about the last time George had sent him something. “Oh… you know… Extendable Ears, Bruise-Healing Paste…” and then, a bit quieter, “love potions.” He hoped Malfoy wouldn’t hear his awkward confession, but it was clear he would have no such luck.</p><p>“Love potions? How vile,” Malfoy said, shaking his head, just as they arrived to the bottom of some stairs headed upwards, “what on earth for?” As they emerged from behind a large pine tree, the view from the steps was to the sea. There was still a blue shine on the horizon, and the surface of the cove was completely smooth. Harry wondered if one could ever be tired of seeing this view.</p><p>They started climbing up the steps. “For my miserable love life, at least so I hear,” Harry muttered, suddenly put off by the conversation. He would much rather just stare at the scenery, and not say anything. Well, he wouldn’t mind snogging Malfoy right about now, and this seemed like a perfect spot for it. Maybe if he just went for it…</p><p>“Is your love life really that miserable?” Malfoy stopped to stand on one step above Harry, his leg resting on the next step, he looked down at him, and there was something charged in his expression. The whole question was charged, there wasn’t really a good reply that wouldn’t lead to an awkward silence.</p><p>Harry stared back at him, unsure how to respond, “I don’t know… is it?” He hoped that Malfoy would give him an answer, that he would say something along the lines of <em>Not anymore!</em> and snog him right at the spot, but it seemed fruitless to hold such expectations.</p><p>Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but then just closed it again. He eyed Harry’s face for a few seconds, and when Harry thought that he would actually bend down and kiss him, he just snorted and turned around to climb up the steps. Another moment gone, why did their opportunities always slip away, unseized? Harry should have made the first move. He would. He would, before the night was over. “I must say that you have poor taste in romantic companions,” Malfoy announced, not looking back at Harry. Was he referring to Ginny or himself? Or both? There was no one else, except maybe Cho, but Harry had a feeling she wasn’t the point of the topic here.</p><p>Harry rushed up some steps to catch up with Malfoy, he cleared his throat. “So far they’ve more picked me than anything, I’m not very good at romantic stuff.” Harry stated the obvious and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He was a man of action, not a man of longing looks and pining over someone for months, both of which he had been unfortunate enough to experience. He wanted to get to the point already, not that he wasn’t enjoying this little holiday that was taking place.</p><p>“I know,” Malfoy said simply, and didn’t continue. Harry blushed. They had reached the top of the stairs, and once they started making their way forward, something unexpected happened. Malfoy, very casually, slipped his little finger around Harry’s. It wasn’t like they were full on holding hands, but the small gesture made Harry’s heart almost hammer out of his chest. He didn’t want to make the moment go away, and he didn’t dare to say anything, not that there would’ve been much to talk about anyway. He just let his pinky hold onto Malfoy’s, now walking closer to him as to not give any reason for him to let go. They walked like that for a while.</p><p>After some ten minutes, the pair arrived to a more rampant park than the previous one had been. This one had trees much older and much larger, and its bushes had taken over the forest floor. They hadn’t seen anyone for ages, so they decided to risk it and cast Lumos in order to navigate through the dark park. There was a path, much narrower than the previous one, going through the forest, just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. The ground was slightly uphill, and it was curving a bit to the left. The air was still warm and smelled fresh as they made their way onwards.</p><p>Then, Harry heard something. Water. Water splashing quietly. Like the statue in front of Malfoy’s shop. They turned a corner, and from behind a large bush was indeed revealed a fountain. It was of a life-size woman, holding a vase, out of which the water was pouring onto her feet. The marble of the statue was stained, and ivy had grown around the woman’s arm and the vase. The ground in front of the statue was stomped and worn as part of the path. Harry stepped forward to look, it was peculiar for an abandoned fountain to still be functional, and it felt as though the woman’s eyes were observing him. There were coins at the bottom of the shallow water pool, Harry could’ve sworn he saw a few knuts in the mix. “Who is this? Do you know?” he asked, and looked back at Malfoy.</p><p>The man was standing a bit to the side, holding the light from his wand over a stone tablet that was sticking out of the ground. “It’s a statue of Venus,” he said, voice suddenly quiet, he wasn’t looking back at Harry. He didn’t know why, who was Venus? Harry returned to look at the fountain, and raised his wand to illuminate the woman’s face: her hair was up, but a few strands were traveling down her neck and chest.</p><p>“Who’s that?” Harry asked, feeling a bit dumb to be asking the question, when Malfoy obviously knew already.</p><p>Now the man took a few steps away from the tablet to look at the statue again, he had lowered his wand, and Lumos cast shadows on his face. “Venus is a character from Roman mythology, but you’ve probably only heard her Greek name… Aphrodite,” Malfoy explained slowly, it was as if he didn’t want to say it out loud.</p><p>Harry’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he returned to look at the fountain again. “Goddess of Love,” he muttered, and suddenly understood why Malfoy had gone all queasy about it. What was Aphrodite doing in a distant forest like this?</p><p>“The plaque says that there’s a rumour, that lovers who share a kiss in the fountain have eternal good fortune,” Malfoy said, and Harry couldn’t come up with but one reason why he would tell him that.</p><p>Harry had vowed to himself to do something romantic for once, before the night was over, and if this wasn’t a sign from Merlin himself to do it and do it now, he didn’t know what it was. So, Harry cast Nox, and took a few steps towards the fountain, stepping into the water, both feet getting soaked immediately. He turned to Malfoy, who was now holding on to the only light that they had, and he was giving Harry an incredulous look. “What on Merlin’s green earth are you doing, Potter?” he said, voice hesitant. There was no way he didn't know exactly what Harry was doing.</p><p>“Come on then, you heard the rumour,” Harry said, suddenly filled with confidence, maybe Aphrodite, or Venus, herself was giving him some sort of courage to do this, “I could do with some good luck.” Harry stared at Malfoy challengingly, this was probably as honest of an invitation the two had ever shared, he wondered. <em>Come on Goddess of Love, don’t fail me now.</em></p><p>Malfoy scoffed and looked down, shaking his head. “You know it’s only a rumour, right? It’s not like you’ll actually get good luck,” Malfoy’s remark lacked the sarcasm it would’ve taken to convince Harry he didn’t want to do it.</p><p>“How do you know that?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows, though it probably wasn’t visible in the darkness, “Humour me, won’t you?”</p><p>Malfoy was quiet for a moment, a little too long for Harry to not get nervous. He knew he couldn’t bear it if the man walked away now. Just when he thought Malfoy was going to shake his head and say something like <em>I think I’m fine,</em> he looked down, and then up again, and said, “Fine, but only for the good luck.” And before Harry could give back a sarcastic quip, his heart hammering, Malfoy had already closed the gap between them and stepped into the pool with a splash. Next, he cast Nox, leaving them both to stand there, in the darkness. Harry found it quite hard to breathe, let alone reply to whatever Malfoy had just said, he had already forgotten. Fortunately, the man didn’t make him wait long, before grabbing Harry from the waist and pulling him into a very passionate kiss. Harry responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around the man, and letting himself be practically lifted from the water by Malfoy. His heart felt like a little bird trying to get out of his chest, his head felt cloudy aside for the very clear fact that he was, once again, snogging Malfoy, and once again, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.</p><p>For a while, there was only the splashing of the water from the fountain, where the two men were embracing. Harry felt like he could never get enough, never get close enough to the man he was wrapped around. His heart felt very full, and he wouldn’t have noticed his feet being completely soaked even if it was pointed out to him, that’s how swept up he was in the moment. He wanted to never stop kissing Malfoy, except to maybe tell him he loved him, he didn’t even think it inappropriate anymore, he was barely thinking about anything. The smell of flowers engulfed them as Aphrodite kept endlessly pouring the water into the pool, not that either of them would have noticed. It felt so very lovely to be held, after all this time, in the arms of the right person.</p><p>After some moments, and some moments more, they pulled apart, both out of breath. Harry was in a loss for words, as they were still holding onto each other. “Well, if that didn’t earn us some good fortunes…” he said breathlessly, looking at Malfoy’s face that was still very close to him, his eyes getting used to the dark now. He was already letting go of the man, but without saying anything, he pulled Harry into another kiss, slower, somehow more intimate than the first one. Their lips were gliding together, they were embracing very gently now, Harry couldn’t help noticing how soft Malfoy’s face was after just shaving. He was so very soft.</p><p>After, the pair got out of the fountain, and dried themselves up, all without saying anything. The moment was perfect as it was, and in a way, they were both afraid that if they were to say something, it would break the illusion. So, they walked home in silence, hand in hand, through the warm, dark, Italian night.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Kick-Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry was lying in the guest room bed. It wasn’t hot inside, but his body felt like it was on fire. He had thrown the puffy blanket to the side, and was now just lying there, in his pants, staring at the ceiling. It was roughly midnight, and the only sound outside were the crickets, whose concerto could be heard incredibly loudly. While the day was brighter in Italy than in England, the night was darker, too. Without streetlights you couldn’t see further than your own nose. When Harry turned his head to peer out the window to the side of the square, he only saw darkness.</p><p>Harry was worked up. Too agitated to sleep, too nervous to do anything about it. After him and Malfoy had returned to the house, the awkwardness that had briefly been broken at the fountain had made a grand return. When Malfoy had kissed him, Harry had been sure they’d spend the night together; the desperation of his touch was evident, he had missed Harry, too. But alas, once they were standing in front of the guest room, at the foot of the stairs leading to Malfoy’s bedroom, neither of them had known what to say or do.</p><p>Harry had thought that it wasn’t his place as Malfoy’s guest to just invade his bedroom: if he wanted him there, he could just ask. Harry would have been very pleased to say yes. But when the moment came, they were both just standing there, staring just past the other. Harry couldn't think of one thing to say that could imply that he would very much like to join Malfoy upstairs, and after a few seconds too many, he muttered something like <em>Well, good night,</em> and quickly stumbled into the guest room. After closing the door behind him, he wanted to bang his head against it. This had happened too many times already. He knew that only when one of them made it painfully clear that something was happening, was it going to happen.</p><p>Now Harry turned to his side and stared at the wall. Was it going to be like this the whole time? Excruciatingly polite and distant, only sharing a moment or two, before Harry had to leave. This wasn’t how he had imagined the trip to go. He had pretty much assumed that the scales were going to be tipped on one side or the other when they first saw each other. But there he was, still not sure where he was standing with Malfoy. The man had taken him on a date, and wrapped him in one of the most intense snogs Harry had ever experienced, and then let him slip away, just like that. Harry had tried to sleep, figure it out in the morning, but his heart was racing, and his limbs felt burning hot.</p><p>He was wondering if Malfoy was awake upstairs, or sound asleep. Was he as utterly distressed by the situation as Harry, or just seeing where the situation took them. Eventually, he would have to go to work, and Harry would be left alone to explore the streets of Italy, or to sit at his place, waiting for Malfoy to return, like a house elf awaiting his master. It was a horrible image Harry wished he hadn’t had. He realized that anything ever happened between them, when one of them took a leap of faith. Technically, it was Malfoy’s turn, since Harry had already showed up at his doorstep in another country, but fuck it, Harry was impatient. He was nervous, but brave enough to sit up in his bed, throw his legs on the ground, and stand up. He reached for his wand, and did a very thorough cleaning charm on himself, just in case.</p><p>Slowly and quietly, he opened the guest room door, and peered outside. His heart was pounding, was he being mad again? If he was, Malfoy would surely let him know, and the problem would, in any case, be solved. Now he carefully stepped outside on the cold red tiles, motions silent. The living room looked different in the dark, the only light coming from the outdoor lights on the outer wall. Harry navigated to the stairs, almost shaking. What if Malfoy was asleep? He couldn’t wake him, Harry thought as he took a few careful steps upwards. If he was asleep, he thought, then he’d reconsider in the morning. But right now, Harry couldn't think about much else than taking the few steps towards the bedroom of the man he so desperately wanted to be around.</p><p>Harry reached the small platform that folded the stairs in the other direction, and he almost had a heart attack when he saw a dark figure nearly bump into him. Harry gasped silently, he was too agitated to not be startled by anything unexpected. In the scarce light of the night, Harry saw Malfoy’s hair glow a bit in the dark. For a second, Harry was ashamed that he’d gotten caught trying to sneak into Malfoy’s bed, that is, until the man spoke.</p><p>“Harry, I… was just fetching some water,” Malfoy stammered, like he had been caught doing something. He didn’t have a glass with him. He was eyeing Harry sceptically, as if he was evaluating whether he bought the explanation.</p><p>Harry didn’t believe him for a second, and let out a laugh that was closer to a huff. “Yeah, me too,” he replied. The two of them stared at each other for approximately three seconds, before they both darted forward. Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s neck as they kissed on the dark staircase.</p><p>Their lips fumbled, finding each other haphazardly, and then drifting somewhere else again. Harry felt like he couldn’t get near enough, and one of them, impossible to know who, was moaning into the kiss. For a moment, they were just there, standing on the platform of the stairs, holding on to each other, lips searching for places to kiss. Harry’s skin was hot as he ran his hands on Malfoy’s waist and arse, curves he remembered very well. He wanted to do everything, kiss him, touch him, shag him, never let go. Malfoy was kissing his neck and palmed his crotch through his briefs, which made Harry bite his elbow.</p><p>They were both only wearing their pants, and Draco took Harry’s hand, much like all those months ago Harry had done to him, and all but leapt the steps upstairs. Harry followed him obediently, but once they had made it there, he made a motion to pull the man back towards him. In one swift motion, before Malfoy could even realize what had happened, he was already in Harry’s arms, being carried onto his bed. He was heavier than he looked, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. “Merlin, Potter, no need to show off,” the man huffed once he had been put back down, but rolled over in the bed to give Harry space.</p><p>Harry darted after him, kissing him everywhere, undressing them both. A few moments later, they were naked, rolling around in the white sheets. Malfoy’s hands were everywhere, it felt like, they were in Harry’s hair, on his waist, cupping his arse, caressing his balls, it was too much. His arse was great, Harry noticed in the faint light, but didn’t have the time to admire it further. Draco was tan against the white sheets, and Harry hovered over him, kissing every inch of his body, something he’d waited to do for what felt like ages. He smelled like a cleaning charm, not unlike the one Harry had performed on himself, and he smiled into the crook of Malfoy’s waist.</p><p>Malfoy was just lying on the bed, limbs sprawled out, as Harry kissed his arms and legs and stomach. He kissed his Dark Mark, the palms of his hands, his neck, his thigh, his crotch. Harry mouthed Malfoy’s hard cock, which earned a faint gasp from the man, before taking it in his mouth and wrapping his hand around the shaft. Harry moved his head up and down, saliva dripping along the skin and making occasional wet noises. It only lasted for a couple of minutes, before Malfoy, clearly having to exert himself, took Harry’s shoulder for him to stop.</p><p>The man kissed Harry right on the mouth, not saying anything. Harry responded eagerly, perhaps too eagerly. After a few moments, Malfoy gently flipped Harry over, spreading his legs on the bed, Harry let out a sharp breath in anticipation, which seemed to egg Draco on. The man’s hands were resting on Harry’s cheeks, pulling them apart slightly. In what felt like ages and no time at all, Harry felt something soft and wet on his taint, nearing his arsehole. He gasped as Draco’s tongue pushed inside, in what felt like the most intimate thing ever done to him. His tongue teased the rim of his hole, pushing in and out. Harry couldn’t hold back a moan; the whole situation was so preposterous.</p><p>When Harry was sure he couldn’t take any more of the teasing, his hard on rubbing on the sheets, chasing after friction, he felt a wet finger, massaging around his hole. It was slick and relentless, and soon enough pushed inside of him. Harry gasped and bit into the pillow, there was not a single thought in his head when he buried his head into the sheets and grasped the blanket for dear life. It was so intimate, so sexual, Harry felt like he could combust at any second. He was taking sharp breaths to steady himself, but they weren’t helping much.</p><p>After a few more minutes, and a few more fingers. Harry was close to orgasm, without even touching his rock-hard cock. “D-Draco,” he spluttered, his face half buried in the sheets, he didn’t even know at which point his glasses had been removed, and he didn’t care, “I’m–“ <em>I’m about to come all over your sheets.</em></p><p>“Are you okay?” he heard a careful question from above him, and nodded fiercely. Malfoy’s face was serious in the darkness, “Try to relax now.” Another series of nods.</p><p>Harry then felt something larger, something much larger than a few fingers, insert inside of him. He attempted to relax the muscles in his lower body, and just like that, Draco was groaning on top of him. It was such a wonderful noise that Harry had to hold back from coming just at the sound. The man moved in and out for a few strokes, and then, something happened, very suddenly, as Draco was pushing inside of him, he touched something there, something that made Harry yelp and grasp the sheets even harder.</p><p>Malfoy bent down to give Harry’s neck a very gentle kiss, while slowly moving back and forth, breathing heavily. His cock was now rubbing Harry’s prostate relentlessly, while he let out silent moans. It was too much. Harry had to reach his hand to give his own cock a few jerks, to relieve his aching erection. It was the only thing it took for him to come all over himself and the sheets with a hopeless groan. He felt the muscles in his arsehole tightening around Malfoy’s cock, and sure enough, the man came panting, half collapsing, half laying on top of Harry. They were both sweaty from the heat of the night. It was confirmed, Draco <em>was</em> an amazing shag.</p><p>“I have to say,” Malfoy started after some minutes, “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.” His breath was hot in Harry’s neck, and he left some very wet kisses on Harry’s back, before rolling off and reaching for his wand from the side table next to the bed. He cast a soft cleaning charm on both of them.</p><p>Harry was still lying on his stomach, his face partially buried in the pillow. His body felt too heavy to move, but he was looking up at Malfoy, smiling like a fool. “To sleep with me?” he asked, propping his upper body up on his elbows and hugging the pillow that was still there. He had already counted the last time as sleeping together, but maybe they had different criteria on what counted as a shag.</p><p>“To do anything with you,” Malfoy admitted, suddenly not looking at Harry anymore, “but yes, to sleep with you,” he gave Harry a shy smile and slouched on the bed to lie on his back. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of him, except to realize that he couldn't see anything, and to do a modest wandless Accio on his glasses. He put them on his nose. Then he carefully snuggled closer to Malfoy, planting a kiss on the side of his chest.</p><p>Malfoy turned to look at him. Not evaluatively, not bashfully, but very… softly. He extended his arm to fondle Harry’s hair, and Harry kissed his wrist, and Draco kissed his forehead, and then his cheek, and then his mouth. Harry kissed him back, tangling his hand in his hair, caressing his cheek, everything he’d wanted to do for months. After a few kisses, they pulled apart, just staring at each other again. “So you fancy me then?” Harry repeated his question from three months ago, with a teasing look in his eyes, he couldn’t hold back a smirk.</p><p>“Well,” Malfoy raised his eyebrows and rolled on his back again, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Potter,” he said, faking nonchalance.</p><p>Harry measured the man’s face with his eyes, the darkness hindered him from seeing much, and he couldn’t conclude whether the git was taking the piss or not. “So, we’re just shagging?” Harry was annoyed to notice how pathetic he sounded. But they had been beating around the bush for too long, now he just wanted to put his cards on the table, though he was scared Malfoy would say yes, or avoid the question entirely.</p><p>Now the man turned back to face Harry, his expression serious. “Not if I can help it,” he replied, and brushed Harry’s hair from his face, “even though I must admit that you are an amazing shag.” Harry snorted and was shaking his head at the comment, while Draco was half-smiling at him, though he had to agree that what had just happened had probably been one of the most amazing experiences he’d ever had.</p><p>“You haven’t seen anything yet, Malfoy,” Harry replied challengingly, and rolled over to pin the man’s hands above his head on the bed.</p><p>“You better show me then,” Draco smirked and reached to lick between Harry’s lips. It was so outrageously vile and enticing at the same time. Harry leapt to snog him, his heart fluttering, thinking he could never get enough.</p><p>***</p><p>The late morning sun was shining on the white sheets. Malfoy was lying on his back on the bed, one leg sprawled to the side, and the other on Harry’s shoulder. Harry was sitting up, fingering Malfoy sloppily. Draco had carefully guided him on what to do and Harry was gently following his directions. Now he was steadily rubbing Malfoy’s prostate, the man under him slowly stroking his dark red cock. Despite his fingers starting to ache, Harry didn’t pick up the pace, but kept it painfully steady.</p><p>He couldn’t help admiring how amazing Malfoy looked in bed; his blonde hair spread to frame his face, his brows furrowed and his chest rising and falling quickly. He had clear tan lines on his hips and legs, where his swimming trunks had been. They were intriguingly short. Now he let out a small whimper, perhaps to let Harry know that he was doing it right. After only a few more strokes, Malfoy came in his hand, falling lax on Harry’s lap. Harry planted a kiss on the man’s calf, and gently lowered it back on the bed. He performed a mild cleaning charm on both of them, and kissed Draco’s stomach, chest, collarbone.</p><p>Despite having taken an accidental four-hour nap earlier in the day, Harry had slept like a baby in Malfoy’s bed, his other leg on top of the man, and a blonde head on his shoulder. He hadn’t had any dreams, and had only been woken up by the sun shining directly into his eyes. Harry couldn’t remember when he’d last slept until ten in the morning.</p><p>He had sat up on the bed, and looked around the room. The walls were a pale sandy colour, and in the far wall, the chimney of the downstairs fireplace travelled along the wall and through the ceiling. There was a shelf on the right side of the chimney, next to the bed, with some books and a plant on it. On the left side, near the huge windows, there was a comfortable looking lounge chair. Outside the windows, there was a tiny balcony, just narrow enough for someone to stand on and admire the scenery. To Harry’s left, opposite to the stairs, there were two doors, but he hadn’t known where they led to.</p><p>“Enjoying the view?” Harry had heard Malfoy’s sleepy voice coming from beneath the sheets, and his blonde head pop up to peer at him, hair dishevelled, eyes squinting in the bright room. He really was a sight for sore eyes, his tan limbs against the white sheets, golden hair messy on the pillow, grey eyes measuring Harry, his voice still low and hoarse.</p><p>“Very much,” Harry replied, keeping his eyes sternly at Malfoy and reached to brush the hair from his face. The man made an expression that signalled that he was simultaneously amused and put off by the mawkish comment, but kept looking at Harry. He extended his arm to caress Harry’s spine, and Harry carefully pulled the blanket downwards, placing his hand on Draco’s hot skin, on his side, then on his inner thigh. That’s when he’d noticed that the man had had a raging hard on.</p><p>Now Draco had had his orgasm, and they were both lying on the bed, Harry’s head on the man’s chest, and his fingers fondling Harry’s hair absentmindedly. The birds outside were chirping eagerly, and the few pine trees that were visible from the bed were swaying gently in the warm morning breeze. Malfoy’s skin was hot under Harry’s ear, and he ran his finger on his chest and on his side, sometimes travelling to brush on his balls, and caress his inner thigh. Draco seemed to take the hint and gave a quick kiss on Harry’s temple, before moving downwards on the bed, and slowly removing his briefs covering his erect cock.</p><p>Malfoy placed his hands on both sides of Harry’s waist, and his eager tongue licked from around his balls, the base of his penis, and kissed his thighs. Harry felt Malfoy’s warm breath teasing him, before finally moving his hands to grab his arse cheeks and taking the tip into his mouth. It was hot and very wet, Harry let out a sharp breath. The man started moving his head up and down, saliva dripping down on Harry’s groin and on the sheets. It was so incredibly sexual that Harry reflexively started moving his hips, fucking into Draco’s wet mouth, who took it all obediently. The man let out a moan, the sound vibrating in his throat and making Harry see stars. Draco propped himself on his elbows, and wrapped his one hand around Harry’s balls, while reaching the other to gently rim Harry, which released an uncontrollable groan from Harry’s mouth. He wanted Draco to fuck him, just like he had done before, no matter that his arse was still sore from it. The finger relentlessly slipping in and out of him soon turned into two fingers, finding his prostate and massaging it, all the while Malfoy’s other hand had found its way to stroke Harry’s cock along his mouth. Harry’s mind was filled with images, each dirtier than the last, until he could feel an orgasm, far away like an ocean wave, rolling towards him, inevitable, and finally, washing over him and hard, like his body was carried to the shore by its strength. Harry moaned and came, and came, and it felt like it lasted forever, Malfoy carrying on relentlessly, only stopping once Harry had fallen limp on the bed.</p><p>When Harry came to, he was lying in the sheets, his limbs spread out, and Malfoy was gently caressing his inner thigh, leaving tiny kisses on his stomach. It felt as though every worry in the world had suddenly disappeared from his mind, and all that was left was a blissful feeling of happiness, lacing everything. Harry reached to brush on Malfoy’s hair, and stared at the ceiling, barely anything moving around in his mind.</p><p>They were quiet for a while, just lying there, before Harry decided to bring up something he had been wondering about. “When did you know you were gay?” he asked, and realized how abrupt it sounded. He had been thinking about what it was like to come out in the Malfoy family. As for himself, he didn’t remember ever being not fascinated about guys, too, but had never really thought about it explicitly, what with being with Ginny and all. Maybe he had never met a guy he was that interested in, until now.</p><p>Malfoy sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I think I always knew,” he said, “but I think one time it really dawned on me was when I saw Alexei Maddocks play for the Magpies in the summer between our second and third year,” he admitted, and smirked to himself, before looking up at Harry. Alexei Maddocks was the chaser for the Montrose Magpies back when they were still in school, he was a pretty big guy and quite famous among the ladies.</p><p>“Maddocks, seriously? He’s not even that hot, I would’ve bet for Krum if anyone,” Harry frowned and propped himself up on the bed to lean on his elbows. Sure, Krum was a little awkward to be so popular, but he was more handsome than Alexei.</p><p>“Oh shut it, he had a good frame,” Draco scoffed and sat up to lean on the headboard, “maybe Krum too, but not that much, he’s too skinny.” Excuse me? Harry happened to like skinny, thank you very much. However, he just settled to nod to himself, and then they were both quiet. The sun had climbed up, and was no longer shining directly into the room, the sea was glistening in the distance, Harry wanted to go to the beach. He couldn’t remember ever doing that, he wanted to feel the salty water on his feet and dig his toes in the sand. Just when he was about to suggest it, Malfoy suddenly continued, shaking Harry from his thoughts that had already gone astray, “There was another time, too, a much more unpleasant one, mind you.”</p><p>The story had another part, how intriguing, but why was it unpleasant? “Right, let’s hear it then,” Harry replied and sat up, pulling his legs in his lap and hugging the blanket now covering his privates. He was looking at Malfoy in what was a mix of encouragement and pressure to continue.</p><p>Malfoy went a bit red and scratched the back of his head, not looking at Harry anymore. “For Merlin’s sakes, er,” he was now looking out the window at the summery view, “remember when we had that Care of Magical Creatures class where Hagrid showed us the blasted Hippogriff, and he made you fly it?” Harry wasn’t sure where this was going, but whatever it was, it was making Malfoy almost squirm where he was sitting.</p><p>“Very vividly,” he replied. He wouldn’t be likely to forget any of the times he seriously feared for his life, and that happened to be one of them. He remembered sitting in Buckbeak’s back, it was so high up Harry almost got dizzy, higher than any Thestral. One could sustain severe injury just from falling off that thing, and there was nothing to hold on to! Hagrid had just told Harry to not rip off any of its feathers, but that was the only thing he could grab as to not be kicked off when Buckbeak started running to take flight. It had been terrifying, until it hadn’t been, until the Hippogriff had flown on the lake, just scratching its surface, and suddenly Harry had felt incredibly free. He would never forget it.</p><p>Malfoy pursed his lips. “It’s when you landed that thing, hopped off it like it was nothing, I thought, what a bloody arrogant bastard he is, and that’s when I knew,” he shook his head and gave a bashful look in Harry’s direction. Harry found it incredibly absurd, but also very Malfoy, to start fancying someone the second he realized how much he hated them. Harry part wished he had felt the same way back then, maybe they could have found each other sooner, though it wouldn’t have been likely. There was still so much between them now, and it had been even more back then. It would have been impossible for them to ignore all that just to fool around. It was better this way.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> when you knew?” Harry asked amusedly, he was grinning at Malfoy now turning scarlet, and an irresistible urge to kiss the man came over him. Unfortunately, his desire to hear the end of the story overpowered Harry from doing such actions, and so he settled for sitting still, and letting the man finish.</p><p>Malfoy shook his head to himself, “I knew I wanted to hex your arse off, heh” he raised his eyebrows and finally looked back at Harry, a smile flickering in the corner of his mouth, “I knew I’d never felt something so strong about anything, or anyone, and I hated you for that.” Suppose it was fair. Draco had had quite the pressure from his dad to continue the family lineage, and realizing you’re fancying the one person you’re supposed to hate, it must have been unpleasant to say the least.</p><p>Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “So, you went to Buckbeak to get your arse kicked?” he gave a small laugh. He remembered how fabulously unsorry he had felt when Buckbeak had kicked the living shit out of Malfoy’s arm with his hooves, and a sting of guilt came over him, if he had only known the situation… Although, the git had been incredibly insufferable about the whole affair for weeks, getting off from doing homework, really gathering up the pity from his housemates, almost getting Buckbeak executed, though that was mostly Lucius’s doing.</p><p>“It was mad I know,” Malfoy snorted and nodded, “I guess I wanted your attention, or to show myself that you weren’t special.” <em>Special,</em> how tired Harry was of hearing he was special, he just wanted to be normal. A normal wizard, go to school like any other, no one trying to murder you, having a normal job and a loving partner by his side. Just a normal life.</p><p>“Right, well, I don’t know if it makes you feel any better but, I never felt very special even though everyone else seemed to think so,” he admitted, thinking about his shitty childhood with the Dursley’s. Any potential he had ever had to getting cocky about his fame was neatly and thoroughly weeded out by his aunt and uncle, making him want to be invisible, giving him hell for being seen. <em>Don’t ask questions! No dinner for you tonight! You should be grateful we’re giving you a roof over your head!</em> Indeed, Harry could never get cocky, it just wasn’t in his nature, at least, not anymore.</p><p>Malfoy straightened his legs on the bed. “That’s what infuriated me most about you, to tell you the truth, you were always so humble and… so out of it,” he kept his stare firmly on the horizon, “if I had been the Chosen One I would’ve been a right bastard about it, not that I wasn’t already but, you could’ve had everything, and more,” he was still staring out of the window, but now folded his legs and rested his chin on his knees, wrapping his arms around them.</p><p><em>He could have had everything.</em> Except… “Except my parents back,” Harry muttered. The only thing he had ever wanted as a child. He had wanted to be away from the Dursley’s and be with his parents. Be with someone who loved him, who didn’t make him do all the housework. Even at Hogwarts, he had had so many questions, and even though he had had Hagrid and Ron and Hermione giving him answers and advice, he never stopped wishing he could talk to his parents, at least once.</p><p>Malfoy was quiet for a few seconds. “Right, except that bit,” he said quietly. Harry didn’t have parents, Malfoy had a dad who didn’t love him and a mum who wouldn’t protect him from his dad. On the biological family front, then, they were both pretty fucked. But it wasn’t about being an orphan.</p><p>“The thing is,” Harry started, “I didn’t even know about the wizarding world until I got my Hogwarts letter, and then suddenly everyone knows who I am, and they expect me to be some great wizard, and all this time, I was just a kid who was invisible at best his whole childhood.” Invisible meant being left alone, something he’d aspired to do for eleven years. Being seen meant being scolded, or punished. When he had been thrown into this odd world of fame, Harry hadn’t known how to deal with it. Suddenly, everyone saw him at once, and no one scolded him, on the contrary, everyone praised him, thanked him, even. He wasn’t even sure why.</p><p>“You didn’t know how your parents died?” Malfoy asked suddenly, he had now turned his face to Harry, measuring his expression with his eyes. That moment Harry realized how much Draco didn’t know about him, and how much he didn’t know about Draco. He hoped that he could learn more, and he wanted to open up to the man about his life. He didn’t even know where to start. They had already gone through some things, but Harry was still surprised how little Malfoy actually knew about his background. He had pretty much gotten used to the fact that everyone knew him better than he knew himself, and now the man was asking him if he had known about Voldemort.</p><p>No, Harry hadn’t known how his parents died. “The Dursley’s told me they died in a car crash, I learnt about Voldemort from Hagrid,” he said, and saw Draco’s face scrunch up in what he assumed to be pity for him and disgust towards the Dursley’s, “about a month before I started at Hogwarts, actually, same day I met you,” Harry continued. He didn’t want to be pitied, especially not by Malfoy, who had had it much rougher these past years. At the same time, he thought about the blond boy he’d met at Madam Malkin’s, getting his robes fitted, talking to him about purebloods. In a way, it was the beginning for a lot of things.</p><p>Draco snorted and shook his head. “I can’t believe you remember that, you soppy git,” he said, now smiling shyly at Harry. Perhaps Harry <em>was</em> being soppy, thinking they could’ve been friends, maybe, if Malfoy hadn’t insulted Ron a month later in the Hogwarts Express. What if Harry would’ve been best friends with Malfoy instead on Ron? Getting sorted into Slytherin. Or what if Malfoy would’ve been sorted into Gryffindor? Would their trio have been a quartet? All things considered, these scenarios seemed highly unlikely. Malfoy belonged to Slytherin, in all its virtues, and Harry belonged to Gryffindor. Perhaps it was integral that they were enemies before they were friends. Maybe.</p><p>“First full day of being a wizard? I’ll never forget it,” Harry replied, smiling back at Malfoy, recalling the feeling he’d had as an eleven-year-old, stomping along Diagon Alley for the very first time. First day of being away from the Dursley’s, hopefully for good. First day of living in the truth, of being free, of being somebody special. He remembered seeing the Nimbus 2000 in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and getting Hedwig from Hagrid. Maybe he should get another owl, he thought, name it Hedwig II.</p><p>“I suppose that’s fair,” Malfoy shrugged, “and I hate to say it but you did grow up to be a brilliant wizard, a fucking excellent flyer too, by Salazar was I pissed at that,” he smiled to himself while giving Harry a look from the corner of his eye. Was he thinking back to when he’d stolen Neville’s Remembrall and Harry’d followed after him, almost knocking him off his broom? Or when he’d kick his arse in Quidditch in their second year?</p><p>“Well, cheers,” Harry said, suddenly a bit awkward by the unexpected compliment, “you were good on the broom too,” he replied, after realizing that he should probably return the praise. And he wasn’t just saying that, it was true, Malfoy had been flying ever since he was little, something Harry didn’t have the privilege of doing. They were both good, and they both had it in their blood.</p><p>“Do you want to go fly today?” Malfoy asked suddenly. Harry didn't know why it took him by surprise, maybe he hadn’t expected there to be a Quidditch pitch somewhere around here. Was it up in the mountains, away from the muggles? Was it <em>within</em> the mountain? Was it bewitched to repel non-magical people? Where would someone possibly put a Quidditch pitch in this little town?</p><p>“Merlin, I haven’t flown in ages,” he replied. It always felt far too laborious to rent some gear and try out a strange broom. Back in school it had been so easy: he had had his own broom and his own flying cloak, he could make his way into the pitch whenever he wanted and just start flying, even around the school grounds. Now it was a travel to the pitch, trying to figure out where to fly in order to stay hidden. Besides, Harry detested the smell of the public changing rooms.</p><p>“All the more reason…” Draco smiled encouragingly, a challenging look in his eyes.</p><p>Harry heard himself say yes. That day, after brunch, they Apparated onto the other side of the mountain, an uninhabited region due of its dangerous cliffs. Not even mountain climbers were ever encountered there. But it was gorgeous: the green forest right at the base of the rock, turning into endless sunflower and crop fields. The sea could be seen, glistening between the mountain peaks, and the trees growing sparser and sparser the further up you went.</p><p>The Quidditch pitch, along with a gear shop and dressing rooms, was located right at the base of the mountain, surrounded by enormous trees that were centuries old, hundreds of meters into the forest from the fields. Harry had been right, there was a muggle-repellent charm set on the place, and even then, someone would have had to ramble through the thick forest just to get to the bottom of an unclimbable rock. Malfoy brought his flying gear, and they rented a set for Harry. It wasn’t half as difficult as Harry had thought, the clothes and boots were clean, and fit quite well. The changing room did smell though.</p><p>Once the pair kicked off from the ground, Harry was positively filled with giddiness, the very recognizable feeling one got when flying on a broom around a Quidditch pitch. He had remembered he loved flying, just not exactly how much. There was a tingle on the bottom of his stomach that swell up like a balloon, finally coming out of Harry’s mouth as an excited laugh. They flew around the goal posts and up the mountain, so fast that Harry’s hair was flat on his head. They circled around each other, flying towards the sea, then towards the fields, their legs almost touching the tree tops. Harry even tried a few loops closer to the ground. He never wanted to stop. After about an hour or two, the men were dripping with sweat, and they decided to land and have some water.</p><p>Malfoy ended up licking the sweat from Harry’s body in the empty showers, their bodies wet with hot water running on them both. Harry didn’t want to ever go home, not even think about home. He just wanted to be here, with Malfoy, forever, shagging and flying and sleeping well for the first time in a long while. When leaning on the cold tile wall of the shower, Malfoy’s mouth everywhere on his body, his tongue in his mouth, on his chest, around his groin, Harry knew he was in love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLEASE NOTE: This story is a work of fiction, and does not necessarily represent a normal, healthy image of sex. The reader should note that unprotected sex should NEVER be had with a partner whose full sexual history is not in their knowledge, be that oral, anal, vaginal, or other. You can read more at https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/teens/preventing-pregnancy-stds</p><p>I urge you to trust yourself and yourself only, when it comes to ensuring the health of any sexual acts. This has been a PSA. Happy wizarding!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. If Every Day Could Be Like This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That evening, the two of them went out to eat to the same restaurant as the previous night. Even though it was Sunday evening, the night life had not slowed down the slightest: people were out, strolling through the streets of the small Italian town, eating and drinking, laughing. When Harry and Draco stepped into the little trattoria, Mister Bianchi gave them a knowing smile, and sat them down near the window this time, lighting the candle between them. Glasses of red wine appeared in front of them in no time, and Harry could feel the numbing sensation of blood rushing through his limbs after the first few sips. He knew he shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach. When their orders came, Harry half devoured his pizza – he was quite sure he could have it for every meal, every day, that’s how delicious it was.</p><p>Draco was asking Harry about his work, and mouth full, he told him about Kingsley’s most recent desperate measures to get re-elected as the Minister. <em>I mean, I’m the head of the department for Merlin’s sakes! You don’t think I’d have to go around asking for permission on everything.</em> Listening to himself be so indignant, Harry agreed with Evergrey in that this little holiday might do him good. He needed some distance from the Ministry and from his job. He needed distance from the seemingly endless stream of permission slips in and out of his office, and he needed distance from his ever-stretching loneliness.</p><p>In return, and in part to change the subject, Harry inquired about the day-to-day of running a potions shop, and Malfoy told him about his continuing research on what he should stock, reading books about rare potions, making the orders, working with the customers. It wasn’t ‘rocket science’, as uncle Vernon always put it, but Harry could’ve listened Draco talk about different species of magical fungi for hours. Maybe it was just him, but he couldn’t shake the thought that Draco would make an excellent Potions Master. He knew better than to bring it up again, though.</p><p>After dinner, they quickly Apparated back to Malfoy’s place, because the man had been resting his hand on Harry’s thigh the way one does when they’re ready to go somewhere private and shag each other’s brains out. So, that’s what they did, Harry on top this time. It was brilliant. Malfoy on his back, so beautiful with his golden hair spread out onto the pillow and his chest red from breathing so rough; his red cock resting on his white tan line, pulsating as Harry kept a steady rhythm with his hips, holding Malfoy’s other leg up with his arm, kissing his shin sloppily. The dark, hot night was filled only with their occasional moans and heavy breathing. Harry never wanted to stop shagging Malfoy, it was different every time, always so fucking fantastic.</p><p>When they were laying on the bed, sweaty limbs intertwined, Malfoy told Harry he wanted to take the job at Hogwarts, but was too reluctant to return to the place to make up his mind. Apparently, McGonagall was still keeping the position open for him, even if it was the beginning of July already. He said he’d started to reconsider it after telling Harry about it in the pub all those months ago. Harry squeezed his hand, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t force Malfoy into something he didn’t want to do.</p><p>“What’s your favourite memory of Hogwarts?” Harry asked after a while. Maybe Draco could do with some good thoughts about the place, there must have been some nice ones, right? Even though Harry was afraid for his life half the time, Hogwarts had still given him the happiest memories of his life: the first Christmas morning at the school, when Molly Weasley had sent him a jumper, his first present Christmas present ever, Harry remembered being so absolutely flabbergasted and grateful at the gesture he could’ve cried. Another happy one was catching the snitch in his first ever Quidditch game, even though his broom had been bewitched by Quirrel. He had had his first kiss at the school, with Cho. Surely Malfoy would have had pleasant memories as well.</p><p>“My favourite memory?” the man echoed, and chewed his lip in thought, staring at the ceiling. The two were more or less tangled up on the bed, their legs intertwined and their arms either under the other or somewhere in between. “Off the top of my head, probably when I got into the Quidditch team,” Draco replied after a moment, “and when Weasley got so fucked off about it that he tried to jinx me to vomit slugs, but then <em>he</em> somehow ended up doing it, really freaked me out when I saw it.” Harry grimaced to himself recalling back to them sitting in Hagrid’s hut, Ron vomiting slugs into a wooden barrel.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Ron got angry because you called Hermione a mudblood.” The comment slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop himself, and felt horrible about it the second he said it. Malfoy had fallen silent. Harry hadn’t meant to make him feel worse about his past – what was done was done. Besides, Hermione hadn’t seemed to be too bothered about the whole business between them, back when Harry had opened up to her about his feelings towards Malfoy. “I’m sorry,” he added hastily, “I didn’t mean to…er…”</p><p>“To remind me of what a horribly foul git I’ve been in the past?” Malfoy said, lifting his eyebrows quickly, “Don’t worry about it, I’m fully aware of it every day.” His face was sour, and Harry felt even more terrible about his slip-up. Malfoy wasn’t that person anymore, at least, not to Harry. He knew the man wanted to change, he <em>had </em>changed, leave his nasty past behind him, and that was what really mattered.</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t be,” Harry replied quietly, “you’ve been through enough as it is.” He extended his free hand to gently brush Malfoy’s shoulder, not knowing what else to say or do. He wanted to comfort him, but had a feeling a smothering embrace wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment. If there was one thing Malfoy couldn’t stand, it was pity for him. But Harry couldn’t help himself pitying the man a little bit, his awful father dragging their family through everything, Voldemort manipulating Malfoy into doing his dirty work. He hadn’t deserved the treatment he’d got.</p><p>Malfoy folded his legs in, so that his knees were now pointing at the ceiling. “It doesn’t make up for it, though,” he muttered, not looking at Harry, “we’ve all been through hell, but I seem to be the only one who’s been a real prick through it all.” A thought that came into Harry’s head didn't deserve to be voiced: anyone else who had been on Voldemort’s side were now either dead or locked up in Azkaban. Malfoy was all alone in his freedom, living among the people who had always sided with good. He must have felt so alone, and there was nothing Harry could do about it.</p><p>Harry gave a deep sigh, trying his best to make Malfoy feel even a little less shit. “You’re too hard on yourself, everyone’s moved on,” he said gently, and didn’t stop caressing Malfoy’s shoulder, moving his hand up to his hairline, “besides it’s only like, half your fault anyway, what with your dad being a right dick.” Lucius Malfoy was probably one of the most cowardice and vile people Harry had ever known, and Draco was unfortunate enough to have landed him as a dad.</p><p>Malfoy snorted. “Mhm, suppose you’re half right, then,” he muttered, and that ended up being the end of that discussion. Harry decided to let it go, and moved carefully closer to Malfoy, giving him a light kiss on his temple, but not staying to cuddle as to not make him feel too stifled. Harry tried to balance between showing his support and attention, and giving Draco the space he needed.</p><p>The next day, Monday, Malfoy determinedly marched downstairs to the shop to announce to Moretti that he was receiving a raise to his hourly rate, and that for the next week, he could decide to keep the shop open with his new salary, or close off for the time, it was all the same to him, he was taking the week off. Harry blushed when he heard Malfoy say it, and felt an awkward urge to grab his hand, but didn't think it appropriate in Moretti’s presence. The man was overwhelmed at the sudden bout of generosity, and thanked Malfoy profusely, Harry, too. Harry felt a bit awkward in the situation, but smiled at him politely.</p><p>After that, Malfoy loaned Harry some yellow swimming trunks of his, and after gathering up food, drink, water, and towels in a huge canvas bag, they Apparated near the beach. The sun was already hot, and the sand burned under Harry’s feet as they set up camp somewhere among the hundreds of people who had also found their way to the waterfront. Malfoy propped up a blue-and-white sunshade, and settled on his enormous beach towel he had laid out on the sand. Harry followed suit, but after extending himself on his towel, didn’t know what to do. What did people usually do on beaches? He looked around – most people were reading or sleeping, some children were playing in the water. Harry fished a piece of melon from their bag and chewed on it thoughtfully.</p><p>“You should probably put some of this on,” Malfoy said and handed Harry some kind of a bottle that had appeared in his hand, he was wearing round-ish sunglasses that really suited him. Harry thought he looked so handsome at that moment, and had to take a moment to somehow capture the image in his brain for later, while extending his arm to grab the plastic bottle. It was yellow and had a blue lid to it. Harry had to reluctantly turn his attention away from Malfoy to inspect what on earth was in the container.</p><p>“Sun cream? Draco… is this <em>muggle </em>sun cream?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Draco Malfoy, the number one cynic of muggles, laying his hands on a peasant product?</p><p>“Funny enough, I find it more effective than any sunblock spell, better water resistance,” Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just fundamentally altered his image in Harry’s eyes, “here, let me,” he said and grabbed the bottle back, popping the lid open and squeezing some of the white lotion in his hand. He then proceeded to spread it on Harry’s neck and shoulders, it was cold. Malfoy continued onto his back, his movements gentle and pleasant, Harry wished he’d never stop. The man’s hand very discreetly visited to fondle the upper part of Harry’s ass, before returning to rub the lotion on his sides. “Just making sure I’m getting it everywhere,” he smirked when Harry jerked his head to look at him in surprise, a bit flustered.</p><p>Next, it was Harry’s turn. He grabbed the slick bottle from Malfoy, in return trying to spread the lotion everywhere in his smooth back, Harry noticed that his skin was much more tanned than his was. The Italian sun had been pampering him for years, whereas Harry had been stuck in his office, day after day, pale as a ghost. They were quiet for a while, the sounds of the lively beach all around them. Harry was absentmindedly massaging Draco’s shoulders in tiny circles, and spreading the lotion onto his arms and sides in slow motions. His limbs were so long. “Your hands are really soft,” Malfoy said quietly, more to himself than anyone.</p><p>Harry didn't know how to respond, he hadn’t noticed. “Er… thanks, I guess,” he replied stiffly. He hadn’t really been paying attention to caring for his hands, ever, and didn’t know how to carry the conversation. So, they were quiet some more, seagulls chiming in with their screeches. <em>Come on, say something!</em> Harry was urging himself. <em>Hands, hands… </em>“They used to always be rough from flying, guess they smoothed back when I stopped,” he said. That was something already, flying, something they had in common.</p><p>It worked. “Why on earth did you stop?” Malfoy asked, turning to Harry, who lowered his hands, and wiped the rest of the stuff on his legs, “Wasn’t it like your only hobby?” Harry wanted to defend himself, but to his dissatisfaction, found that the man was right. What did he even do at school? Homework and flying, those were the two things that took up almost all of his time, there were so many assignments to complete and so many practices to make it to.</p><p>“Hey! I go to the gym now,” Harry protested weakly, handing Malfoy back the bottle, fully aware that the man wasn’t talking about the now, “but yes,” Harry had to admit, “it used to be my only hobby… aside from trying to figure out what shady business you were always up to,” he smirked. Ah, yes, the two hobbies he had had: flying and stalking Malfoy. To his defence, Draco had always seemed like he was up to something, other times he was merely pestering Harry.</p><p>“Me!?” Draco gasped dramatically, and Harry laughed, “I’ll have you know I mostly wasn’t up to anything, it was you three that I always kept eye on,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, “sneaking around you three, every year the same thing.” Harry snickered at Malfoy’s dramatics, he wasn’t wrong in that they were almost always planning one thing or another. Whether it was finding out what was in the hatch a three-headed dog was guarding, brewing Polyjuice Potion to trick Draco into revealing if he knew who the heir of Slytherin was, or to use a Time-Turner to save Buckbeak and release Sirius, the list went on. Harry would have to tell his stories to Malfoy one by one, he thought. It would be too much to explain everything at once.</p><p>“Suppose that’s fair,” Harry admitted, then decided to return the remark: “like you had any hobbies,” he said. It was still a tad unclear to him what Draco did his entire school career, except bully everybody into being his lackeys. Harry only remembered him being on the Quidditch team on and off. On the other hand, Draco hardly had any idea what Harry had been doing the whole time, either. They would hopefully have much more time to talk about it.</p><p>Malfoy snorted. “It wasn’t cool to have hobbies, don’t you remember I had a reputation to uphold, once,” he said, snidely.</p><p>“Ah, of course, that,” Harry nodded, feigning seriousness. Malfoy had had quite the reputation back then; rich, powerful father with connections both in the Ministry, and, rumour had it, to some dark wizards. No one could stand against Draco in fear of getting wiped from the face of the earth, except Harry, of course, who pretty much had nothing to lose anyway – the Dark Lord had already been on his back, what was one more of his followers? Harry remembered what it was like to be up in arms every time he crossed swords with Malfoy, wanting to hex his arse into next year.</p><p>“Anything that wasn’t Quidditch didn’t live up to it, so I had to buy my way in, or rather, my father did,” Draco said, very neutrally. He didn't seem to have any emotion when talking about his reputation and his dad. He seemed to be working hard to suppress it, and Harry couldn't blame him.</p><p>“And how did that work out for you?” he teased, wanting to keep the conversation light. He recalled Slytherin losing their first ever match against Gryffindor, with Harry and Draco pitted against each other. Harry wondered, if by getting his son on the team, Lucius had effectively removed all the fun Draco could’ve possibly had on the broom, and reformed it into pressure of succeeding. Or did he care at all? Did he care whether Draco was good or bad? Harry couldn't decide which was sadder.</p><p>“Oh stop it, anyone is second-tier compared to your spectacular fucking skills,” Malfoy huffed, in a mix of amusement and annoyance, shaking his head at Harry.</p><p>“Spectacular? I’m blushing,” Harry smiled wide, and leaned back on the towel, his elbows digging into the sand underneath. Malfoy gave him a sore glance from the corner of his eye, and punched Harry gently on the shoulder, that only made Harry laugh. In that moment, he couldn't remember one single of his worries.</p><p>The rest of the morning, Harry was laying under the shade, his head on Malfoy’s lap, listening to him talking about his short Quidditch career in the Slytherin team, his middling school performance, and their mutual aversion towards the History of Magic lessons. Harry was surprised but very happy to learn that they had had something in common, even such a simple thing as being bored of history. <em>I don’t think I ever touched that book!</em> he exclaimed, and Malfoy burst into laughter.</p><p>Under the scorching sun, they had some of their packed lunch and water. Malfoy had cultivated a cooler spell that kept their food nice and refreshing. Harry was quite impressed, he’d never created an original spell himself. When he mentioned it, Draco blushed, but tried to hide it by shuffling about with the food. After lunch, they went swimming: Harry made his way through the burning hot sand, only able to breathe when his feet touched the cool water of the shore. It was probably the first time Harry ever swum in a sea, he was surprised at how far he had to go for the water to even reach his waist, and even then, when he walked further, the sea floor rose up again.</p><p>Harry fell backwards into the water, letting it soak his hair completely. Another thing that he had always known but only now realized was how very salty the water was: even when he kept his mouth shut, he could still taste it in his mouth. The water was so clear he could see all of the rocks and shells on the seabed when he dove around in the shallow shore. Malfoy was amused at his clear wonderment of the experience. He waded over to Harry just to kiss his salty lips, grinning the whole time, gentle waves splashing on their legs. That’s when Harry knew. He knew something Draco knew, but he didn’t say anything.</p><p>They dove around in the clear water, trying to do hand stands and somersaults until their mouths and ears and eyes were full of salt water, and they had to walk all the way back to the beach, skin cool, and the wind making their arm hair stand up in goose bumps. Harry felt like a kid again, a kid he never got to be, goofing off in the water, sun on his hair and his face.</p><p>After returning under their sunshade, not bothering to dry himself, Harry fell asleep on the beach towel. When normally he would sleep five to seven hours intermittently, here he was sleeping ten hours every night and taking a nap on top of it, it was like he was sleeping off years of not getting enough rest. Some forty-five minutes later, he was gently woken up by Malfoy, bashfully presenting him with a beautiful seashell he had found. It was orange and white, perfectly preserved, cleaned clear of sand. Harry realized that the man was giving it for him to keep, and was taken aback by the unexpected gesture, but accepted the shell, blushing a bit. Malfoy was turning out to be more romantic than he thought, and more than he himself could ever be, though he tried.</p><p>Late in the afternoon, when they had already packed up their stuff and were walking towards the promenade to find a private place to Disapparate, they passed a group of people playing beach volley. Harry was looking at them, intrigued. Of course he was familiar with volleyball, having grown up in the muggle world, but couldn't recall playing it since primary school. It looked fun what they were doing, running around in the cooled down sand. When they saw Harry looking, they motioned him and Draco to join them, <em>Dai! Come on, tourists! </em></p><p>Harry shot a pleading look at Malfoy, who was reluctant at first, but clearly wanted to oblige Harry. He finally followed him on one side of the net, joining the Italians, leaving their stuff on the side lines. Harry couldn’t understand anything the locals were saying the whole game, but nevertheless had a blast, running after the ball, only hitting it nearly. Even Malfoy turned out to be quite good, pitching the ball over the net multiple times. Probably because he was taller, Harry thought jealously. Why did wizards only have one sport? Not to say flying wasn’t exhilarating, but running and jumping around after a ball just to hit over a net, only for it to be returned back like a hot potato, was quite fun, too.</p><p>After some thirty minutes of playing, Harry and Draco motioned to the Italians that they had to leave. They said farewell and the locals waved after them gleefully, probably secretly happy to be rid of Harry’s horrendous performance on their team. The pair apparated back to Malfoy’s place from a quiet side alley.</p><p>When Harry stepped into the shower on the other side of the wall from Malfoy’s bedroom in the second floor, he realized that he’d, despite of the sun cream, gotten a bit of a sunburn on his shoulders and waist. It stung in the warm water and was red under his touch. Harry dried himself, dabbing carefully over the burned part with the towel, and returned to the bedroom. The outside doors were open, and Malfoy was standing on the small balcony, looking over the sea in thought. His golden hair was gently swinging in the salty breeze, and his blue cotton shirt was moving back and forth around his body. He looked so peaceful, Harry hated to interrupt it.</p><p>“Erm, it seems that your muggle sunblock wasn’t quite powerful enough this time,” Harry grimaced and walked over to the man, the towel hung only loosely around his waist, to avoid any painful friction on his reddened skin. The cool evening wind felt welcome, and immediately started drying Harry’s damp hair. He stopped next to Malfoy, and put his other hand on the cold iron railing. The view was even more graphic from up there: it felt as though Harry had stepped into the scenery, and was floating closer and closer to the sea.</p><p>Malfoy turned to him, and raised his eyebrows amusedly upon seeing his red shoulders, Harry didn’t think there was anything funny in the situation, “Shit, does it hurt?” Draco asked, brushing Harry’s hot skin lightly. It stung.</p><p>“Well yes when you touch it!” Harry pulled away reflexively, “otherwise it’s only, like, tingling a little bit,” he looked at the skin and smoothed over it with his finger, “it also got my bum, here.” Harry turned a bit and inched his towel downwards a little for Draco to see where his white skin turned scarlet. The line was even more clear when it cut neatly from where his swimming trunks had been.</p><p>“Ouch, erm, I have some aloe vera extract for that, stronger than any muggle stuff,” Malfoy turned towards the bedroom and determinedly made his way through the space, disappearing into the bathroom. Harry could hear cupboards opening and closing, bottles rattling, as if the man was trying to search the stuff from the very furthest corner of a large corner. Moments later, Malfoy emerged, holding a small glass vial in his hand, full of sticky green liquid. He screwed the cork open and pulled out a dropper. “It’s probably better if you apply it yourself, here,” he squeezed a few drops out onto Harry’s skin, and Harry carefully rubbed it onto the red parts. It was gel-like and syrupy, but it felt like it calmed the stinging sensation a little.</p><p>“Thanks,” Harry muttered, and wiped his hands clean on his thighs. He looked up at Malfoy, who hadn’t moved away, and was now standing very close to Harry on the balcony. He was still wearing his swimming trunks, and smelled of sun lotion and a little bit of sweat, in the best way. Without thinking, Harry leaned forward and quickly left a small kiss on Draco’s cheek. The man looked baffled, looking into Harry’s eyes, but not saying anything. He then kissed Harry back, on his temple, and then on the mouth. It was a simple kiss, just a soft peck, really. Harry adored it. They didn’t say anything about it.</p><p>That night, Harry was lying awake in Malfoy’s bed. The man beside him was snoring lightly, but that wasn’t the thing keeping Harry up. He couldn’t sleep because of an awful, intrusive thought that had popped into his head. What were they doing? They were having fun, this week, sure. But what about next week? Malfoy couldn’t just not show up to work for the four weeks that Harry was scheduled to be off. Even if he would, Harry would eventually have to return to London, to his apartment that now seemed so bleak and lonely, to his work, to his normal life. A life without Malfoy, tan and snoring, next to him. Neither of them could just quit their jobs, change their life completely, could they?</p><p>Harry felt like he was going daft. He never wanted to leave this bed, leave Malfoy’s side. That was the main problem for Harry – he thought that his apartment would feel much less lonely if Draco was there, waiting for him, when he got home in the evening. He would love to settle down with someone, and right now, he couldn’t think of doing that with anyone else. He was well and truly gone for Malfoy. He wanted the man in his bed, in his house, in his life. It was mad, they had only been like this for a few days, and Harry was already planning everything out, even before the end of their week together. Maybe he should just give it some time, maybe things would work themselves out.</p><p>He turned to look at Malfoy, sleeping peacefully beside him. It was mad how quickly they had gone from acquaintances to… lovers? Granted, it had been brewing for several months at that point, and Harry was up to his ears sweet on Malfoy. He just wanted to be with him more, it felt as though there weren’t enough hours in the day for him to be with the man. But eventually, he would have to leave. Leave Draco’s golden hair and slight stubble, his gentle kisses, and their still fumbling romance. He didn’t want it all to end, he didn't want it to end so much that his chest felt heavy with the weight of the inevitable. Harry sighed and spread his limbs out straight. There was nothing for him to do, except give it time, hope everything would be okay in the end. After painfully turning around in the bed, the sheets scratching his burnt skin, and staring at Malfoy’s sleeping figure, he finally fell asleep.</p><p>A few hours later, what felt like minutes to Harry between falling asleep and waking up again, he woke up to Malfoy squirming on the bed. The man was grabbing onto the sheets and twisting left and right, breathing heavily and muttering something. Before Harry had a chance to reach out to wake him up, Malfoy started repeating <em>No! No!!! NO!!!</em> before shooting up to sit, sweat glistening on his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling from breathing too quickly, fists still squeezing the blanket. He was staring straight forward, not seeing anything.</p><p>Harry sat up as well. “Draco, hey, hey,” he reached to grab the man’s arm gently, which caused him to turn his head to look at Harry, disoriented enough to not recognize him, “it’s okay, it’s just a nightmare, you’re home,” Harry was repeating as gently as he could. He let go of the man’s arm, sad to comprehend his state very well. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d woken up to himself screaming, sweating through the sheets. Now Malfoy seemed to come to, blinking rapidly, and he reached to grab Harry’s hand tightly. Harry squeezed back, and shuffled closer. Draco’s head fell onto his shoulder, his blond hair falling to cover his face.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay,” Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy the way he had always wanted to be held after waking up from a nightmare, stroking his hair gently, trying to be as calm as possible. He could feel the man’s hammering pulse on his chest, where he was leaning on, and didn’t say anything more. Didn’t ask what the dream had been about, just held him calmly but tightly, trying to make him feel as secure as possible. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.</p><p>They stayed like that for some minutes, Harry’s arms wrapped around Malfoy, stroking his back gently, not saying anything. After a while, Draco spoke: “I saw her die,” he said, so quietly that Harry could barely hear it, “professor Burbage, He killed her in my home, at my dining table,” the man’s voice broke towards the end, and he buried his face into Harry’s chest. He sometimes forgot that Malfoy had seen awful things too, not just in the battle of Hogwarts, but in the months, even years, preceding it. To see someone murdered in your home, a place where your childhood memories have been formed, at your table, where you had breakfast every morning, or where you had your cake cut on your birthday. Harry didn’t know how to respond.</p><p>“I know,” he said quietly. Well, he hadn’t been aware the gruesome end of miss Burbage<em>,</em> and he had been better off that way, but he knew what it was like, seeing somebody die right in front of you. Seeing Cedric die, seeing Sirius die, and Dumbledore, and Dobby, and so many others. Too many others. At least Malfoy hadn't personally known Charity Burbage, though that was a lean comfort, and Harry would not mention it.</p><p>They were quiet for a long while again, just sitting there on the bed, before Malfoy finally lifted his head off of Harry’s neck. He was sitting cross legged, staring at Harry bashfully, as if he had been caught at something. “I hoped you wouldn’t find out,” he said in a low voice, his hair now gleaming in the scarce light. It was completely dark outside, which probably made them both feel more secure in talking about serious things. It’s easier when you don’t have to look anyone in the eye.</p><p>“That you have bad dreams?” Harry repeated, incredulously. After all, he was the unofficial king of having nightmares. Maybe he hadn't expected Malfoy to also have them, but he sure as hell wasn’t surprised by it. He doubted there was one person who had been at the Battle of Hogwarts who didn't have scars about it, internal or external. Harry was quiet for a while, in the darkness, wondering if he should reveal Malfoy something, that might make him feel less alone. Eventually, he decided it was going to come out one way or another anyway. “Did you know I was there when Snape died?” he asked.</p><p>Malfoy was quiet for a few seconds. “I suspected it,” the reply could be heard in the dark room.</p><p>Harry sighed, unsure how to formulate the thoroughly vile description of Snape’s death. “Voldemort made Nagini attack him, I saw him bleed to death,” he said carefully, deciding that there was no benefit in talking about it in an embellished way, Snape would certainly not have wanted that, “I stopped dreaming about it perhaps two years ago,” Harry admitted.</p><p>It was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Malfoy whispered and squeezed Harry’s hand he was still holding. It was all he needed to say, and all Harry needed to hear. Sorry that he had to see it, sorry he had to dream about it, sorry for the whole sodding mess.</p><p>“I’m sorry too,” Harry nodded, though Malfoy could barely see it. Then there was nothing left to say, and they just sat there again, before lying down, still holding hands, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, and it was impossible to tell to whom of the two it happened first, they fell back asleep.</p><p>The next morning Harry found himself looking at Malfoy differently, a little less like a puzzle. The previous night he had learnt something about him, something personal, and Harry felt closer to him for it. He noticed he was giving the man soft looks, and a few extra kisses on his cheek. There was not a chance Malfoy didn't notice the change in his manner, but he didn’t voice a complaint. The morning was cloudy but warm, and they decided to go out to fly again. Harry had almost forgotten about his distress of leaving, but just when he had blissfully sat down to have breakfast with Draco, he looked at him, and realized that their days together were numbered. He wanted to forget about it again, and he hoped flying would do that.</p><p>Turned out, flying did do that, for a while. As soon as Harry kicked off the ground of the Quidditch field, all of his worries vanished once more. In his mind he was transported back to the Quidditch matches of his first years, nothing to lose, and everything to gain. His only worry being Slytherin winning over Gryffindor, and the endless gloating that would inevitably follow from Malfoy’s end. Except now, he was flying <em>with</em> Malfoy, not against him. They were gliding up the mountain, side by side, and only stopping to admire the scenery for a few seconds, before plummeting down again. Harry managed a daring loop in the air, and couldn't hold back a genuine laugh bubbling out of his chest.</p><p>Malfoy spotted an abandoned Quaffle on the side of the field, and when nobody came to claim it, he swooped to pick it up, and throw it to Harry, who somehow managed to catch it, nearly falling off his broom in the process. They took turns with one of them being a Keeper and the other a Chaser, trying to score through the three massive hoops. Soon enough they found that they were quite terrible playing both positions, when Harry only managed to block two passes, most of Malfoy’s throws not being anywhere near the three hoops. Not much better could be said of Harry, who only scored once during the whole hour – who thought Malfoy would be such a nimble Keeper?</p><p>After flying, exhausted from the heat, Draco and Harry made the mutual decision to stay inside at least until it was a bit cooler to go out again. They cooked together in the apartment that had not yet been warmed up by the scorching summer sun. They sat at the table, talking, for what seemed like hours, sometimes glancing out onto the street from the window, to find that everyone else was also cooped up at home, safe from the extraordinarily hot day. After, they somehow ended up on the couch, sweaty and naked, Harry licking Malfoy’s salty neck. To tell the truth, Harry knew exactly how they wound up there – Draco had cheekily asked if Harry’s bum was still sore from the sunburn, and Harry had invited him to take a closer look. It didn't quite explain how Harry was now eating Draco out, with the man moaning and trembling under him, his hand desperately searching for release by jerking his cock. Harry couldn't help noticing how heavenly Draco’s whimpers sounded, his normally cool composure now completely wrecked by Harry’s tongue. He hoped the moans couldn’t be held by Moretti downstairs. Or rather, he only thought about it later.</p><p>In the evening, when the sun was setting and it was getting cooler outside, the pair finally went out. Malfoy wanted to show Harry some of the historical monuments of the city that had their roots in wizarding history. Harry had agreed, although not very eagerly: he wasn’t the sightseeing type, especially when it came to staring some old statues. He was actually a bit surprised Draco would even suggest it. Be that as it may, he agreed, thinking that if Malfoy thought it would be interesting, Harry couldn’t very well argue.</p><p>They Apparated onto a chilly side alley behind two buildings, both of which had enormous trash bins outside in the back – probably restaurants. Malfoy gestured for Harry to follow him onto a wider street, and took a right towards the city centre. The setting sun was warm on Harry’s skin, and the air was still hot around them, as they walked to a small square, lined with old stone buildings that looked like they were about to crumble at any moment. Malfoy pointed to the nearest one, a white building, two stories high, menacingly crooked to the left. “That is the first house in Italy that was built entirely with magic,” he announced. To tell the truth, it didn’t look like much – the red bricks of the roof were barely holding on, and the windowsills had holes between the wall and the window from having to bend with the house over the years. “I know it looks utterly unfortunate, but apparently it has been like this for nearly two millennia,” Draco shrugged, “I think that clown Gilderoy Lockhart claimed he spent a night there once, though I highly doubt it.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Harry agreed, “he was a fraud through and through,” he nodded. Only after a few seconds, he noticed the weird look Malfoy was giving him, as if he was trying to evaluate if Harry knew something he didn’t. And Harry did. “He told me and Ron that in the Chamber of Secrets,” he specified, realizing that there was simply no way of explaining it and not make it sound completely mad, “he threatened to Obliviate us, like all the other people whose stories he stole to sell his books.” Every sentence he added to the story made it sound more like a fever dream, so he decided not to add that after, he had to fight an enormous basilisk controlled by a piece of Voldemort’s soul hidden in a journal slipped into Hogwarts by Draco’s own father, or the fact that he almost died from the snake’s venom only to be saved by Dumbledore’s magical phoenix Fawkes who had also brought him the Sorting Hat with Godric Gryffindor’s sword in it.</p><p>“Merlin’s beard, Potter,” Draco huffed, shaking his head, “I swear, every story I hear from you is more demented than the last one.” Harry just shrugged, Malfoy was right, his schoolyears had been utterly crazy; only when he had talked to people with fairly normal childhoods had he realized how fucked up everything in his life had been.</p><p>After processing the news about Lockhart’s fraudulent identity for a bit, Malfoy decided to not dwell on it any longer, and to move on to their next destination. It was on the very edge of the city, in a small park near the highway. One could hear the occasional cars gassing behind the thick trees. There was an iron statue in the middle of a round clearing, of a witch called Abriana Zaccaria, who had apparently led a small band of local magical folk to defend the small Italian city from invaders a long time ago. She was holding her fist up high, with her robes behind her, and her wand in a holster. If one would only look quickly, it was as if she was wearing a military cloak and a dagger on her waist. Muggles would certainly see it that way, maybe blame the oddities on the old ways of sculpting.</p><p>The third stop was an old church in the centre, still open for tourists at such a late hour. It wasn’t large, but its stained-glass windows were a work of art, and knowing that it was built nearly a millennium ago, one couldn’t not be impressed by the details of the stone work. Draco and Harry stepped into the cool church, with its huge slate flooring and tall ceiling. Malfoy told him that there was a rumour that the legendary warlock Merlin’s son was buried beneath the floor tiles. Apparently, everyone had a different story as to why it had come to pass, and thus it was not taken overly seriously.</p><p>Walking out of the church into the warm night air, and once again heading towards the beach, Malfoy asked, “So, do you like being Head Auror?” His tone managed to be incredibly nonchalant while revealing his curiousness, though he kept walking forwards, not staring at Harry. They walked under an archway along what Harry had become to know was one of the main streets.</p><p>The question somehow surprised Harry while not surprising him at all. He knew it would come up eventually, but had somehow not expected it to be at that moment. “I do, I feel like it’s where I should be right now, not forever but, I think I can do some good out there,” he admitted. He did think that everything in his life had led up to him being the one to secure the lives of the magical folk of Britain. It might have been the guilt of being the cause of so much grief when he was younger that compelled him to want to somehow repay the people.</p><p>Now they came to a large square, filled with restaurants and lively people, sitting at tables, laughing and clinking their wine glasses. Harry loved how busy the city was even in the middle of the week, the people were there to have a good time with their friends after a long day at work. Harry wished he could forget about his job after he got home in the evening, wished he had friends to go to restaurants with on a Tuesday, wished it wasn’t just him and the gym from Monday to Friday. “Why not forever?” Malfoy’s question jostled Harry out of his thoughts.</p><p>Harry thought about it for a while. Why didn’t he want to be Head Auror until retirement? It was too much, too much responsibility, too much paperwork, too much action. “Erm, well,” Harry started, and decided to begin with a benign example, “it’s a lot of paperwork, and…” he drifted off for a few seconds, trying to compose his next sentence in a way that wouldn't scare Malfoy away, “and I just don’t want to have a job that risky when I have a family.”</p><p><em>“When</em> you have a family?” came Malfoy’s immediate reply, his tone a tad more surprised than Harry would have liked it to be.</p><p>“Yes, is that a problem?” Harry asked. He really hoped it wouldn’t be a problem, otherwise it would be a problem for him too, because each passing second, he was falling more in love with Malfoy, and didn't think it likely to want to start a family with anyone else. He had to remind himself that it had only been a couple of days, and that he was getting ahead of himself.</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” Malfoy replied vaguely, and then was quiet for a full two minutes, as they were making their way along the same street which ended in the promenade, they could already see it in the distance, smell the sea, “so what about Minister for Magic? I think you’d seriously have a shot at that.”</p><p>A shudder went through Harry. “Never in a million years, you wouldn’t believe the paperwork, nobody’s ever happy with anything you do,” Harry shook his head very determinedly, and could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, “I want to keep my will to live, thanks.” He gave a side glance at the man, wondering why he had dodged the subject of family, maybe because of his own experiences, maybe he hadn't made his mind about it yet. At any rate, it was far too early for them to even discuss the possibility.</p><p>When the pair reached the beach, it was already late. All of the people who had occupied the seashore at daytime had left, and found their way into the restaurants at the centre. Now the streetlights of the promenade illuminated the beach, but looking out to the sea, it was pitch black. Harry removed his shoes, and stepped onto the warm sand. It was odd to be at a public place with no public there; it was eerily quiet, with no laughing children or screaming seagulls around. For some odd reason, Harry felt peaceful, staring into the nonthreatening darkness. He knew there was nothing there to be afraid of, just the salty waves, gently hitting the sand.</p><p>“Fancy a swim?” Malfoy asked, already taking his shoes off, and walking past Harry towards where the sounds of the sea were coming from. Harry shrugged at no one and followed Malfoy, casting Lumos as to not step on anything suspicious, like a sea urchin drifted to the shore. The lights of the promenade illuminated Malfoy’s now naked back. He had already pulled his shirt over his head, and was now unbuttoning his pants. Harry followed suit, and they left their clothes a safe distance away from the water. They were both wading in the waves in their pants, the water still as warm as during the day.</p><p>It was peculiar to feel the current on one’s legs, the waves slowly pushing and pulling, but without seeing much. The men didn’t wonder off too far onto the sea, but left to float a minutes’ walk from the shore. Harry extended his limbs in the water and stared up at the sky. Suddenly, he noticed how many stars he was faced with, he had forgotten how utterly magnificent the night sky could be, with thousands upon thousands of stars twinkling in the velvety sky, like diamonds. The muffled rush of the waves in his ears combined with the breathtaking firmament were enough to make Harry drift off into his thoughts. He couldn't see the stars in London, there was too much artificial light at all times for him to even remember such a thing. Here everything was different, it was quieter, more relaxed, more natural. A more benign pace of life. That’s what Harry was thinking of. After a couple of moments, they returned back to shore, drying off with a Heating Charm, and finally, Apparating back into Malfoy’s place.</p><p>Wednesday, it was hot again, reaching 30°C, and nearing 40°C in direct sunlight. Malfoy had a brilliant idea to rent a boat, which they could anchor in some small fold in the cove that was in the shade, somewhere more private. So, that’s what they did. They ended up with a small white boat, quite new from the looks of it, that had a simple sofa and a table on the other end, and the steering wheel on the other. Harry couldn’t not admire Malfoy, guiding the boat along the cove, in the yellow swimming trunks he had loaned Harry before, and his espadrilles, his golden hair ruffled in the wind, wearing sunglasses that made him look like a male model in one of the magazines aunt Petunia used to read. Harry didn't even care that he was staring.</p><p>They anchored in a shaded place in a small fold that was on the side of the larger cove. Even though it was only ten minutes from the beach, it was almost completely silent, the solid rock blocking any sounds coming from the shore. Malfoy plopped down on the sofa and leaned back, propping his legs up on the table, and picking up one of the potions books he was always reading. Harry couldn’t understand how the man had the interest to read so many books that were essentially just about his work. Sure, Harry was interested in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and was working in the field, but he couldn’t remember reading two books about it ever since he left school. There were only so many spells you could use. Now Harry got frustrated, not having brought any pastimes, so he decided to go for a swim.</p><p>He took the scuba goggles Malfoy had found somewhere in the back of his closet and placed them on his head, lowering himself in the fairly shallow water over the ledge, and then performing the Bubble-Head Charm, before diving into the clear water. Harry could see the crinkly seabed clearly, the sunlight flickering on the waves, while diving round the boat. There weren’t many fish there, but Harry did find a very green, smooth rock on the bottom of the cove, and grabbed it in his hand.</p><p>After a while, Harry returned back to the boat, and climbed on board with some difficulty. They were still in the shade, but the hot wind didn't make Harry shiver, on the contrary, it dried him up quickly. “Here,” he said, interrupting Draco’s reading, “I have your seashell, I want you to have this,” he placed the small, round stone on the man’s palm. Malfoy put his book away and inspected the souvenir Harry had just handed him, it had been brighter in the sunlight, but still had a glowing colour to it.</p><p>“Thank you,” Malfoy said, sounding very sincere. He brought the stone to his lips and kissed it gently, closing his long fingers around it, and putting it beside him on the sofa. Now Harry didn’t know what to do, so he sat down as well, and just looked at Malfoy, whose book was now lying beside him, face down. “Why are you here?” he then asked, suddenly, not sounding upset, just gently curious. His expression was unreadable, as he was facing Harry’s stare.</p><p>Even though Harry was surprised by the question, for once he didn’t have to fumble for an answer. It was clear what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid of saying it anymore, “I’m here for you,” he replied firmly, not turning away from the look the two were sharing.</p><p>“But why? What is this, Harry?” This question was much less unexpected and yet much more difficult to answer. Harry didn’t know what to say – he didn’t know what Malfoy was expecting him to say, he only knew what he felt, and he fully well realized the unlikeliness that his desires would ever come true. What did he want? A stable family life, kids, a house with a yard, a job that was less demanding. Before he had found it improbable, now, with Malfoy, it felt almost impossible. It felt like the two just weren’t meant to ever settle down with each other, they lived in different countries for Merlin’s sakes! And that wasn’t even near the discussions they would have to have about everything, Harry didn’t have the faintest clue of what the man even wanted from his future. Maybe that was a good place to start.</p><p>“What do you want it to be?” Harry asked, and hoped that it wasn’t too hard a question. It dawned on him that maybe Malfoy had never really planned a life on his own, without his parents, without Voldemort. What did he really want, for himself?</p><p>The man looked hesitant, then took Harry’s hand, very gently, into his own, “I don’t know,” he admitted, looking a bit embarrassed, since Harry clearly had things planned out, “and I haven’t the faintest clue as to why you fancy me, honestly, but I don’t want it to stop.” Harry felt himself going completely red listening to the words coming out of Malfoy’s mouth. He gave the man’s hand a gentle squeeze.</p><p>“I know,” he said, and didn't know how to continue, but he felt compelled to express to Malfoy what he was thinking, “to tell you the truth, I don’t know what you’re seeing in me either, but I don’t want to leave, or I want you to come with me.” He noticed that he was now holding Malfoy’s palm with both of his hands, just staring into his grey eyes.</p><p>Draco seemed like he was having trouble breathing, but eventually a very relieved smile spread onto his face, and he nodded. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, what did it mean? “I want to, I do, I just don’t know how,” he said, and whatever glee had quickly bubbled up in Harry’s chest died down as fast as it had developed. Then Malfoy snorted to himself and shook his head, the smile still on his face, “I can’t believe you came all the way here to see me, you soppy bast–“</p><p>The man was interrupted by Harry, who surged forward to kiss him. He really, truly never wanted to leave, and might as well take all of the opportunities he could get to kiss Malfoy. He tangled his fingers in the man’s hair, and pulled their faces even closer together, somehow ending up sitting in his lap. What had started as a quick snog had quickly developed into something more personal, something that enclosed the desperate passion the two didn’t want to end. Somehow Malfoy’s swimming trunks wound up on the floor with his espadrilles, Harry in between his legs, sucking him dry. He held on to the man’s trembling, tan thighs as he came, in the privacy of their cove. If every day could be like this.</p><p>Three very short days later, it was Saturday, and the lump in Harry’s chest had steadily grown from the dread of having to separate, not knowing when they’d see each other again. They had gone flying, gone to the beach, walked up and down the streets of the city innumerable times, went grocery shopping, cooked, slept, and most of all, shagged, for the whole week. It was Harry’s final evening in Italy, and he felt like shit about it. Actually, shittier than shit, he felt absolutely fucking terrible. Malfoy was trying to pretend nothing was wrong, which Harry realized was a coping mechanism, since talking about it wouldn’t really help. They had talked about it every day since Wednesday.</p><p>Since it was their last evening together, Malfoy had told Harry that he’d take him to a very posh restaurant, and shag his brains out the whole night after. For a second, it seemed that they would skip the restaurant altogether, when Malfoy saw Harry in slacks and a button down for the first time. <em>I can’t believe how fucking hot you are, can I keep you?</em> were the first words out of his mouth, before he cupped Harry’s arse cheekily, and leaned in to suck his earlobe. Harry’s eyeballs rolled back in his head when Draco brought his hand around to caress his crotch. He wished he could be kept, how he wished it so very badly.</p><p>Once they got their act together, they Apparated on an alleyway near the restaurant, which was located on the promenade. The building was old, but had been renovated to be modern, with doors made fully of glass, and the interior completely renewed to contain a large bar area, and seating near the windows on two floors. The head waiter showed them to their table on the upper floor, overlooking the cove with the setting sun painting shades of pink and orange on the sky and in the water. After trying to make out something to choose from the list, they ended up ordering a five-course menu with traditional Italian dishes, and then were left to swirl the very fancy wine in their glasses, neither of them coming up with anything to say.</p><p>The first course was a dish called the arugula salad, which featured mushrooms and prosciutto as the main ingredients. Even when Harry felt his appetite completely gone, he found himself scooping up the first dish, probably not the way this food should be eaten. The pair only shared some positive remarks about the flavour, and otherwise concentrated on not thinking the obvious. Harry just wanted to spend the evening like any other night, not feeling like he was about to give something up very soon.</p><p>The second course was a creamy yellow risotto, that was placed on the bottom of a very large plate. It was heavenly, and for a moment, Harry forgot why he didn’t feel like eating. He was sad when the dish was gone in a few forkfuls, and hoped that the waiters weren’t rolling their eyes at him for his boorish behaviour. “Do you know what?” he said suddenly, Malfoy still chewing on his rice but now directing his attention to Harry, “I’m not going to ruin my own night,” he declared, “I’m here, in a lovely restaurant, in Italy, with this incredible view, and this mouth-watering food, with the man I love, so cheers.” He clinked Malfoy’s wine glass with his own, and was halfway to bringing it to his lips, when he heard the man’s incredulous voice.</p><p>“Er, I’m sorry, did you just say that you <em>loved me,</em> perhaps?” he asked. Harry’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. His face went bright red, matching the rose that was now rising on Draco’s cheeks, as he stared at Harry, looking a bit lost despite his sharp remark. An unpleasant, nervous twist made an appearance in Harry’s stomach.</p><p>“Well, er, I now realize I haven’t said that out loud yet, haven’t I,” Harry started, feeling the red spreading from his face to his neck and his ears, “but yes, I love you, it might be stupid and unfortunate but I can’t help it, and I don’t want to fight it either, because I haven’t felt that way in a long time, I know it sounds horribly cliché coming out of my mouth, but–“</p><p>“I love you too,” Malfoy’s voice interrupted Harry’s spiralling monologue, “I’ve known it for a long while, I just never thought you’d feel the same, I thought you’d leave and then… I don’t know, go back to your life I suppose.” His words stabbed Harry through the heart, was that what he had thought this whole time? That this was just a vacation for Harry and then he’d just fuck off?</p><p>“Can’t you see? I don’t want to go back to my old life, because it doesn’t have you in it,” Harry’s voice sounded desperate in his ears, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be with Draco, do regular things with him, like sleep in the same bed, cook together, come home to him. He wanted to spend time with the person he was in love with.</p><p>“How long have you felt this way?” Draco asked quietly. His grey eyes were burning a hole in Harry.</p><p>“I… since you left, three months ago,” Harry confessed, <em>I dreamt of you every night,</em> he wanted to say, but was afraid of sounding too clingy.</p><p>Malfoy just nodded. “I wanted to write, but I thought it would be… well, silly. I didn’t know how you felt. When you showed up here, I just, I wanted... I wanted to…”</p><p>“I know,” Harry said quietly, “me too.” He thought bitterly about how much harder the two had made their lives to be, when it could have been very easy. It could have been so very easy…</p><p>Malfoy kept his promise that night, shagging Harry’s brains out. The man murmured <em>I love you</em> after every kiss he placed on Harry’s body, and Harry had no choice, and no will to have a choice, but to respond <em>I love you too</em>. It didn’t take them the whole night, it took them barely an hour to be completely exhausted, covered in sweat, laying on the bed.</p><p>Sunday morning, Harry woke up with a pit in his stomach. He felt as though he hadn’t slept at all, he felt exhausted and jittery at the same time. He saw the sun rise from behind the mountains to his left, gently painting the sky pastel blue and urging the birds to start their daily concerto. Harry threw the blanket aside, and sat up, lowering his feet on the floor and getting up from the bed. He walked over to the small balcony, sliding the glass door open, and stepping over the threshold to smell the fresh morning air. He leaned on the railing and just let his eyes rest on the perfectly calm view that once again boded a beautiful day, not a hint of sadness in sight.</p><p>After only a few minutes, Harry saw a growing dot fly towards him, and first only thought it a regular bird, hunting for breakfast. But soon Harry realized it was an owl, and it was carrying in its beak a letter. It clearly noticed Harry on the balcony, and in a massive swish of wings and feathers, landed on the railing, wrapping its long claws around the metal. It looked at Harry with its large eyes, waiting from him to grab the letter, so he did. It was addressed to Draco, in Narcissa’s handwriting. There was a twist in Harry’s already knotty stomach, like he just knew something was wrong.</p><p>Draco was already half awake when Harry brought him the letter to bed, and he let out a pained groan, having to wake up so early. <em>Damned international owls, always so bloody early.</em> After some more cursing and rubbing his eyes, Malfoy ripped open the letter, squinting at the text. Harry was monitoring his expression, to try and figure out what the letter said. After a few seconds, Malfoy went white under his tan, and then a tad green. His hands started to shake as he squeezed the piece of parchment tightly.</p><p>“What is it?” Harry asked. Suddenly, something in his stomach sank, and not like it had before, but in a much worse way. The way when you just know something bad has happened. Malfoy didn't say anything; his lips were white from how tightly they were pinched shut. The man drew his legs into his lap and wrapped his arms around them, lowering his jaw on his knees. Harry picked up the letter, it was short. It was Narcissa’s handwriting, no doubt about that, but it was faltering, and there were stains in the ink here and there, as though she had been crying. The letter said,</p><p>
  <em>Dearest Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something has happened. You have to come home as soon as you can. The Ministry has announced plans to execute all former Death Eaters currently serving time in Azkaban. That includes your father, Draco. Please come home.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mum</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PLEASE NOTE: This story is a work of fiction, and does not necessarily represent a normal, healthy image of sex. The reader should note that unprotected sex should NEVER be had with a partner whose full sexual history is not in their knowledge, be that oral, anal, vaginal, or other. You can read more at https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/teens/preventing-pregnancy-stds</p><p>I urge you to trust yourself and yourself only, when it comes to ensuring the health of any sexual acts. This has been a PSA. Happy wizarding!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. In Defence of Lucius Malfoy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Forty-five minutes later the two had packed their bags, and Harry had managed to book an emergency portkey for them to get back to London. He was back to wearing his blue jeans and a tee under a grey hoodie as he was frantically stuffing all of his other belongings into the seemingly endless bag. When he emerged from the guest room, where all of his stuff had been, Malfoy was already standing in front of the living room, carrying a black bag, having returned to his signature look of black slacks with a black turtleneck. Black for London. He hadn’t said a word since he had read the letter from Narcissa, and was looking at Harry quite absentmindedly. It was as if he had somehow withdrawn inside himself, Harry couldn’t blame him.</p><p>When it was time to leave, Draco closed all doors and windows as a matter of routine, his limbs moving as if they were on autopilot. He grabbed his bag, and Harry could hear something fall over in there, though it didn’t seem to be very heavy. They made their way downstairs into the shop, and Malfoy locked the door to his apartment with a muggle padlock and a protective charm. He then left a short note for Moretti, stating that something had come up, and that they’d have to leave for London, not knowing when they’d be back. Truthfully, Harry didn’t think if he’d ever be back, and even amidst the worry running through their veins like icy water, he couldn’t help giving the place a last, longing glance.</p><p>The portkey was just outside the house. Since it was a wizarding neighbourhood, and also quite early in the morning, they didn’t have to sneak anywhere private to start their journey. Both of them grabbed the portkey, which was scheduled to leave any minute, and held on to their bags, knuckles almost white. Harry had decided he hated international travel, and the early hours combined with the lack of breakfast had created a heavy pit in his stomach, that sure as hell would not be removed by being dangled around in a never-ending spiral of the portkey.</p><p>The experience was just as horrible as Harry remembered it: the twisting and turning of the whirlwind, the churning up and down movements and the eternal spinning made Harry feel like he’d vomit, for what felt like just a few minutes too long to be bearable. When Harry was sure he’d actually hurl on both himself and Malfoy, they were spit out on Narcissa Malfoy’s lawn. If it had been early in Italy, it was even earlier in England. Harry hadn’t realized that London even smelled different. Whereas the small, sunny town had smelled like salt water and hot stone, Narcissa’s yard’s scent neared the smell after a rain, and wet pavement. The morning was bright, the heat wave was still scheduled to arrive later in July, and the sunlight reflected off of every raindrop on the plants in the small garden.</p><p>Harry got up from the ground, to stand next to Malfoy, who infuriatingly did not seem to be affected by the horrid journey at all, even landing feet first. He was still squeezing his bag, and Harry picked his off of the wet ground. The door swung open almost immediately, and a weathered-looking Narcissa strode across the yard to wrap Draco in a tight hug. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all: dark circles under her eyes, face puffy, hair messy. She had been crying, Harry realized awkwardly. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the woman in this state, not even in her own trial. Now Draco put his arms gracelessly to touch her back, in what seemed like a reluctant embrace. Harry realized that he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to confront his wreck of a mother and deal with the execution of his monstrous father. Again, Harry couldn’t blame him one bit.</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re here,” Narcissa murmured into Draco’s shirt, and reluctantly let go of his son. She didn’t seem to notice, or didn't care, that Malfoy looked as sour as someone who had just bitten into a rotten apple. “And you!” Narcissa exclaimed and turned over to Harry, and to his complete and utter surprise, wrapped him into an embrace as well, “thank you for bringing by son home,” she said, voice shaking a little.</p><p>“Yeah, er, of course,” Harry stammered, turning his eyes to Malfoy in search for some type of acknowledgement of the odd situation, but none came.</p><p>The three were now standing there, and just as Narcissa was about to rush them inside, Draco spoke, for the first time since hearing the news, “Mother, we needn’t drag Harry into this, it’s really more of a family matter.” His tone was cold, and he didn’t look in Harry’s way, but kept his eyes on his mother. Harry didn’t know why Draco was suddenly so eager to get rid of him, since he was the only person present with personal connections to the Ministry, but he didn’t want to start a debate. He wanted to leave the two alone to process the news, together, he didn’t need to be there; it wasn’t his place, anyway.</p><p>Narcissa’s eyes widened a little, and she was rapidly taking turns between eyeing the two men in front of her. “Very well,” she replied, and glanced at Harry apprehensively, like she was trying to assess if anything had happened between them that preceding week, “thank you for seeing that my son got home safely.” Her tone was suddenly very formal, and Harry held his tongue about how he did not contribute that much to the already safe mode of traveling that was the portkey (it was literally just going from A to B). Harry settled to nodding at her.</p><p>“Can I, er, have a moment with your son?” Harry asked sheepishly. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say, but a part of him was afraid that Draco would somehow get it to his head that he had to handle everything himself, and then piss right back off to Italy to be miserable by himself, leaving Harry behind, without as much as saying goodbye. Even now, Draco seemed reluctant, and frankly, disinterested, in having a chat with Harry.</p><p>Narcissa looked at the two of them again, nodded, and gave her son a warning glance that screamed <em>Play nice!</em> before taking his bag and walking back inside. She didn't close the door. Now Malfoy turned to Harry, looking grim, “What is it?” he asked, scowling. Harry tried very hard to not be offended by his sudden change in manner, keeping in mind that this would be an extremely stressful situation for anyone.</p><p>He sighed deeply, and looked into Draco’s eyes. He received a reluctant stare from the man, like he didn’t want to look at Harry at all. “I’m sorry about this,” Harry started, very gently, “I’m sorry about everything you’ve been through, but if you think this changes something between us, you’re wrong.” An apprehensive flicker appeared into Draco’s hard eyes, his cross expression softened the tiniest bit. “You’re shutting me out because you think I’ll leave,” Harry continued, and nodded in order to support his claim, “I won’t, just so you know, so go inside and be with your mother, I’ll see you later.”</p><p>Draco’s expression was now turned from cold to unsure. He was shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and glancing at Harry suspiciously. He nodded, but didn’t seem to be able to say anything more. Harry took a step closer to him, placing his hand gently on the man’s neck and cheek, and moved closer to give his other cheek and light kiss. When he moved away, Draco looked like he was about to shatter to a million pieces right there in front of Harry. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice barely audible, almost like a question.</p><p>Harry nodded and took a step back, he was going to do something about this. He was going to stop it, somehow. He was Harry freaking Potter, for Merlin’s sakes. He had killed the most powerful evil wizard in the world, he could stop one puny execution from happening. With a newfound determination to protect his new love from losing his good-for-nothing father, he gave the man one last glance, before Disapparating with a crack. He was going to pay a little visit to the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt.</p><p>***</p><p>Once at his house, Harry left his bag in his bedroom, and impatiently Apparated downstairs into the living room. Everything looked exactly the same as he had left it, and for some reason, it made him feel more grim than he thought it would. His Dittany looked a tad droopy, and Harry quickly watered it, before taking the determined steps towards his fireplace. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his muggle clothes, he had grown quite fond of them the previous week, and frankly, he thought that his point would get across stronger if he looked like his vacation had been interrupted so greatly that he had been compelled to march straight into the Minister’s office (which was exactly what was happening).</p><p>Harry grabbed a handful of Floo-powder and climbed inside his fireplace, enunciating clearly, <em>The office of the Minister for Magic.</em> His one slip-up all those years ago had taught him to speak very clearly every time he travelled by Floo, not wishing to slide out of the fireplace in Borgin and Burkes again. He threw the powder onto his feet, and green flames swallowed him whole. The next second, he was already in another place, a familiar office with its bookcases and armchairs. It was absolutely, positively <em>filled</em> with stacks of parchment, some towers tall enough to hide behind. Harry could barely see any furniture from behind the mountains of paperwork now decorating Kingsley’s office.</p><p>Just as Harry had expected, the Minister sat behind his desk, looking very tired, reading through a huge stack of parchments that looked like enough paperwork to start an entirely new Ministry somewhere. It was Sunday morning, but the poor man gearing up for elections in three weeks was not resting. Apparently, he didn’t even notice Harry appearing into his office, because he only looked up when Harry cleared his throat loudly. “Harry,” he exclaimed, voice breathy, “back already? I thought you were taking the month off.”</p><p>Harry realized he hadn’t prepared at all what he should say. He had confidently paraded here, determined to save a cockroach of a wizard from execution he didn't fully disagree with. “I was,” he started, voice grumpier than he meant it, but for once thought it served the purpose, “then I heard that you’re planning on offing the lot of Death Eaters currently in Azkaban, tell me, you didn't think to run it by me?” he pressed. Suddenly, he felt very left out. Indeed, why had Kingsley made such a sudden decision without saying a work to him, even before he left? It had only been a week for Merlin’s sakes.</p><p>Now Kingsley pushed his reading glasses to his forehead and sighed very tiredly, leaning back in his chair like he always did. Harry realized that he must have been exhausted, and felt a small pang of guilt having come to pester him this early in the morning on a weekend. No matter, he had to have the decision reconsidered. “I did send you a letter to your address, I expect you didn’t receive it,” the Minister muttered and pinched his nose with two fingers, “the meeting was on Wednesday, it all happened very quickly, the vote was almost unanimous.”</p><p>“Almost?” Harry heard the question escaping his mouth before he could control it. Who was it that didn’t support the proposal?</p><p>“Yes, mister Evergrey voted against the motion, as you could have probably guessed,” Kingsley said. <em>Of course,</em> Harry thought – Evergrey was too good of a person to ever let something like this fly. Unfortunately, the decision had been made with the majority siding with the proposition. Still, it was too serious of a decision to be made in such a short time, without a judge present, without a jury. You simply shouldn't be able to decide something like that in one board meeting.</p><p>“How did you suddenly decide that they had to go?” Harry asked, and at the same time, realized what was going on, “it’s to get votes, isn’t it? You’re executing a bunch of criminals who are already serving their time, to get re-elected, aren’t you?” he was now almost hissing at Kingsley. This was not the man he knew, the man who had been elected as Minister after Voldemort had been defeated was strong, compassionate, and honourable, the cowardice man now sitting in front of him was only a shadow of his past self.</p><p>“Azkaban is overcrowded, and the public already thinks the Death Eaters should have been neutralized when they were found guilty in their initial trials, it’s a win-win,” Kingsley’s tone had changed into a very stern and official one, his words sounding too rehearsed for Harry to believe that the man could ever have come up with something like this himself. He doubted Kingsley even fully agreed with the plan himself. But the way the Minister said ‘win-win’ made Harry feel like he was going to explode at the spot, taking both of them with him, and half of the floor, too.</p><p>“Are you even hearing yourself?” Harry was essentially shouting now, trying to form words so quickly he would be able to shower Kingsley with a lecture of a lifetime, Harry tried to frantically come up with a way to change his mind, “It’s not a ‘win-win’, you’re murdering a bunch of people for political gain, that’s what’s happening here,” he tried to make Kingsley realize the reality of what he was about to do, “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”</p><p>“Oh, wake up, Harry!” Kingsley huffed irritably, “They’re all murderers, they’ve slaughtered hundreds of magical folk combined, we’re doing everyone a favour here,” the way he said it, like it was clear as day and that Harry was just not able to see it, made Harry feel like he was being treated like a child – too naïve for the company he was in, and that really got under his skin in the worst way. He was just as competent a government official as any; it was Kingsley who had been brainwashed to go through with this horrific plan.</p><p>Now Harry was getting furious, “Really? A <em>favour</em>?” from within his chest erupted such a fantastically mocking laugh it couldn't have been more appropriate if he rehearsed it, “They’re already in prison, Kingsley, that was their punishment <em>by law</em>,” Harry stressed. Sitting in a cell in the middle of the North Sea, surrounded by Dementors, the most vile creatures of perhaps all of wizarding world, until the end of one’s days, was punishment enough. Now that Harry thought about it, maybe death would be a sweet release from the constant unhappiness and despair the prison’s guards elicited. No, Harry had to mentally shake himself, Narcissa Malfoy was at home, completely distraught, because his husband was about to get executed out of nowhere. There was no chance all of this was legal. “The only difference between you and those murderers in Azkaban is that you’re on the right side of the law,” Harry challenged.</p><p>Now Kingsley stood up forcefully, dark blue robes shuffling around him, clearly provoked by Harry’s comment and his general tone undermining his authority, “I <em>am</em> the law, Potter, and let me warn you, you’re treading on <em>very</em> thin ice right now,” his voice was rumbling like thunder as he spoke, lightning flashing in his eyes. Harry’s heart raced, but he held his ground determinedly, both legs on the ground, arms firmly on his sides.</p><p>It was quiet for a few seconds, the moment breathed like a dragon that had just performed its first attack, stopping to assess the damage that’s been done. “Maybe someone <em>should</em> take over,” Harry said quietly, staring at the Minister daringly, “seeing what this election has done to you. You’re not the man you used to be, Kingsley, maybe it’s time to step aside.”</p><p>The man’s eyes flashed dangerously, “Get the hell out of my office,” Kingsley hissed. He was leaning forward behind his desk, his hands on the mahogany countertop, stare fixated on Harry. If he could have incinerated him at the spot just by the sheer force of his stare, Harry would only be a pile of ashes on the floor right now.</p><p>Harry stood his ground, even though inside, he was shaking in his boots. “You used to be a man of reason, now what are you?” he asked challengingly, “All I know is that the man I’m seeing in front of me right now is very desperate, and desperate people don’t make good leaders.” Harry thought of Voldemort leading his troops, desperate to get his hands on Harry; he thought of Snape’s short reign as the headmaster of Hogwarts, desperate trying to protect both Harry and Draco, and himself; oddly enough, he also thought of Vernon, leading their small pack of four to the lighthouse all those years ago, desperate to escape the seemingly endless stream of Hogwarts letters.</p><p>There was a long silence, where the fire behind Kingsley’s eyes eased off, as he stared at Harry, mulling over what had just been said. He extended himself, “What do you want?” the man asked in a low voice.</p><p>Finally, Harry had a small window of opportunity, and he wasn’t going to waste it. “I want you to save Lucius Malfoy, I don’t care what you do with him, stick him back to Azkaban for all I care, but don’t kill him,” he demanded steadily. If he could save the life of even one wretched Death Eater, he was going to do it. Frankly, Harry had never thought that he would be in a situation like this, pleading for the life of one of the most deplorable wizards alive, but here he was.</p><p>Kingsley gave a long, tired sigh, and rubbed his temples, “And why, pray tell, should I do that?” he asked, clearly only entertaining Harry, but unbeknownst to himself giving him an opportunity to jam his foot in the door.</p><p>Why should he? Why should Harry? Because he was in love? Because… “I owe his family that much, Kingsley, and so do you, they’ve been through enough as it is,” Harry heard himself say, and wasn’t quite sure how his argument would go over. He didn’t really have firm grounds on which Malfoy’s life should be saved – he had marched here in such a hurry that he hadn’t really had the time to formulate a solid defence yet.</p><p>The Minister shook his head regrettingly, “My hands are tied, Harry, it was a decision by the Ministry board.” Kingsley slouched back on his chair, and looked at Harry like he was indicating that it was his turn to convince him to take action – it was more than Harry had expected of the conversation. Then he realized: <em>the board.</em> All he had to do was persuade the board to change Malfoy’s conviction.</p><p>“You’ve said that before, now when has it ever been true?” Harry asked, “I’ll convince the board to rescind his conviction, turn it back to a prison sentence.”</p><p>Now Kingsley just shrugged, like it was all the same to him what Harry did. Perhaps he was too tired to fight back anymore. “You have to have a hell of a good reason to change their minds, and mine,” he said in his low voice, giving Harry a long look, which told him what he already knew: that he was a huge pain in the ass.</p><p>“I will,” Harry nodded firmly. As of yet, he didn't have any good reasons, but that bit would have to come later.</p><p>The man raised his eyebrows and leaned back in the chair again, fumbling for his reading glasses from his forehead and pushing them back on his nose, picking up the stack of parchment he had been reading before, “Fine, I’ll arrange a meeting for tomorrow at noon, no later or the decision will leave for Azkaban, <em>as is</em>,” he gave a very final look at Harry from behind the documents.</p><p>Harry just nodded, again, “Until tomorrow, then,” he said, confidently. He turned around and marched back into the fireplace. Now he just had to come up with a convincing reason, or preferably, reasons, for the Ministry board to not order an execution for one of the most notorious Death Eaters of his time, how hard could that be?</p><p>***</p><p>When Harry walked out of the fireplace in his living room, he saw Draco shoot up from the sofa, body rigid as he took a hesitant step towards him. Harry thought that the man would have stayed with Narcissa, assuming she was a wreck, and was a tad surprised to find Malfoy now standing in the middle of his house. He took another sceptical step towards Harry, a more of a motion than an actual intention, his eyes scanning Harry apprehensively, like he was trying to decide where they stood now. Harry thought that this was not the time to start recalibrating their dynamic together, so he walked over to Draco and wrapped him in a huge hug. Apparently, that’s what the man had been waiting for, because he melted in Harry’s embrace, long arms enclosing around him, his head falling into Harry’s neck.</p><p>They stayed that for a bit. When they parted, letting to reluctantly, Harry saw Malfoy hastily wipe away tears from his face. He hadn’t realized the man had been crying, but didn't dare to mention it. Instead, Harry collapsed on the sofa, exhausted. “How’s your mum?” he asked. He imagined her to be quite distraught, she looked she had been crying the whole morning, and frankly Harry was quite bewildered by the fact that Malfoy was now here, at his place, instead of at home comforting his mum.</p><p>Malfoy let out a heavy sigh, following Harry onto the sofa. “Not well, but I just can’t stand to be at the house, I told her I’d come here and make a plan with you, whatever that is,” the man lowered his head on Harry’s lap and threw his limbs up on the sofa. Harry’s fingers started to absentmindedly curl in between the golden streaks of hair, caressing it gently. The dark circles under Malfoy’s eyes, which mysteriously only appeared when he was in England, had deepened in shade, and Harry realized how exhausted they both were. “So,” Draco let out another tired sigh, “what’s the plan then? Where even were you, I thought you’d be home?”</p><p>“Er,” Harry wasn’t sure if what he’d done had actually made anything better – he tried to think of what they could tell the Ministry board the next day that could safe Lucius’ life, “I went to see Kingsley, he was at the office already.” Draco’s eyes widened as he shot to look at Harry, his expression a mix of horror and realization. “He set up a meeting with the Ministry board for tomorrow, they’re going to hear my case to save Lucius, but it’s going to have to be a good one,” he bit his lip, and looked at Draco expectantly.</p><p>The man, his posture suddenly rigid again, grabbed the couch cushion like a stress ball, and stared at the ceiling. “Well fuck me,” he huffed, “what the fuck can we even say?” he clasped his hands together in the air in front of him, and pleaded ironically, “Please mister Minister, please don’t kill my dad, I know he’s a murderer and an accessory to intended genocide, but he means so much to me,” Draco lowered his hands and made a disgusted sound.</p><p>Now Harry determinedly sat up on the sofa, he wouldn’t give up that easily. They had at least gotten an audience with the board, and that was already something. “No,” se said, “we’ll come up with something, I know we will, we have to.” His mind went back to searching for possible reasons for the Ministry to exempt Lucius. Had he ever done anything that even resembled anything good or unselfish? Donating some brooms to the Hogwarts Quidditch team hardly counted. If there was one thing Harry thought might count was the fact that Lucius had not fought alongside Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts, but rather, huddled up with his family in some distant corner. Granted not the noblest move, but at least he didn’t side with the Death Eaters in the very end.</p><p>“You seem to be more resolute about this than me,” Malfoy snorted humourlessly. “If I didn’t know better I’d guess he’d be your father and not mine.” The way he said it made it sound like he actually did hope Lucius had been Harry’s dad and not his own, which raised the question of how Malfoy was now dealing with the whole affair.</p><p>Harry looked at Draco for a few seconds, evaluating his dark expression, before asking, “How do <em>you</em> feel about this?”</p><p>Draco’s face looked like he considered the situation as more of a very bad joke than anything – an amused expression plastered across his face, but no emotion behind his eyes. Now the man shook his head tiredly, “Honestly, I don’t know what to think,” he propped himself up on the sofa, but only a little bit, like halfway up he decided it wasn’t worth it, “on one hand, it feels like I should have seen it coming, actually, I was surprised they didn’t do it when they found him guilty at the initial trial, it’s like he’s been living on borrowed time,” then he let out a very deep sigh, the third of many, “but on the other hand, he’s my dad, no matter how much I wish he weren’t, and this whole thing feels like a punishment for getting my life somewhat back together.”</p><p>There was a pang of pity in Harry's chest, as he took Draco’s hand into his own. It was cold and sweaty. He didn't know what to say, except that he knew what it was like to love your dad who was or was in the brink of being gone forever. “You know,” he started, “I think you deserve good things happening to you without anyone trying to take them away. You’ve worked hard for everything you have, and I know you feel like this is a punishment, but it’s not. It’s an adversity that would have occurred either way. We’ll get through it, I promise.”</p><p>Malfoy looked up into his eyes the whole time he was speaking, and finally, squeezed his hand in what felt like a <em>Thank you for saying that.</em> He nodded, looking a bit more peaceful. “I think you might be right,” he said, “and thanks… for, you know, not pissing off and leaving me and mum to deal with this, I know, I know, it’s not who you are but, I suppose I’m not used to kindness.”</p><p>Harry’s heart ached for Draco and Narcissa. He wished the man hadn’t had to go through all that he’d been through, or at least, he wished he could have been there for him. He wanted to show Draco that not everyone was just looking for something to gain, that there was some good in the world, people willing to help others. <em>People willing to help others.</em> Of course! Harry stood up so fast he almost fell over. His view going dark and stars flickering in the edges of his field of vision. Malfoy looked at him, startled by the sudden movement, and disgruntled that his human pillow slash hair-fondler had left. “You know what we’re going to do?” Harry announced, ignoring Draco’s dramatic protests.</p><p>“What?” the man asked in an almost curious tone, he finally sat up straight, monitoring Harry’s actions closely.</p><p>“I can’t believe I didn’t think about this earlier,” Harry huffed as he strode to pull some parchment and a self-writing quill from his book case drawer. The quill immediately started drafting up a note.</p><p>“For Merlin’s sakes, spit it out!” Draco had also gotten to his feet, and now looked a bit nervous.</p><p>Harry spun around, victorious, “We’re going to ask Hermione for help, she’ll know what to do, she always knows,” a huge wave of relief was washing over Harry, but the feeling was obviously not reflected in Draco’s face, which now turned a tad nauseous.</p><p>“Do you think that’s the best idea? I would guess Granger would happily side with the Ministry on this one,” Draco hesitated.</p><p>“Trust me, I know her,” Harry said confidently, “she’ll help us, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Dear Hermione,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There is an emergency and we need your help. Can I and Malfoy come over? Today. It’s urgent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Harry,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I thought I’d be hearing from you. I have a guess what it’s about. We’re expecting you at 4pm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hermione</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Ron and Hermione’s place was the same as always: clean and organized. Freshly cut flowers in a vase, the smell of food wafting throughout the house, the afternoon sun hitting the potted greens in the living room, fresh herbs sitting side by side on the kitchen counter, and the radio silently playing on the background. Harry was a bit apprehensive about bringing Malfoy with him, but he didn't see another option. If Ron and Draco wanted to fight it out, Harry and Hermione would be ready to tackle them both at the spot. Harry sensed that Malfoy, too, was a bit jittery as they walked through the blooming front garden and over the threshold.</p><p>Earlier that day, they had managed to cook a proper meal, regaining some strength after the ghastly morning they’d had. At least Harry noticed that he wasn’t feeling half as desperate after he’d had something to eat. After, they look a long nap, waiting for 4pm to roll around. They were lying in Harry’s bed, his arm loosely thrown over Draco’s side as what had started as a comforting embrace and ended up a slack limb just drooping over him as they had fallen asleep.</p><p>Now Ron was holding the door open for them, sour in the face, hugging Harry quickly, muttering <em>Hey mate, good to see you</em> as he did. For Draco he had reserved a more warning expression, “Malfoy,” Ron uttered plainly, but not rudely, which Harry counted as progress. He was quite nervous about how the afternoon was going to go – Ron wasn’t quick to change his opinions, especially that of Malfoy, and Harry couldn’t very well force him to do so.</p><p>“Weasley,” Draco replied factually, seeming bashful. Harry had never heard him say the name without sneer, and it sounded odd in his ears, but clearly, Draco had come here to reconciliate. That’s all Harry could ask of either of them anyway.</p><p>Now Hermione emerged from the kitchen, “Harry!” she exclaimed and wrapped him in an enormous hug, as always. Her baby bump was already visible from underneath her shirt, though only a little bit. “Draco,” she said, more businesslike, after releasing Harry, and gave him a polite, though reserved, smile. “Hope you’re up for some treacle tart, I’ve been baking lately,” she smiled a bit awkwardly and gave a meaningful glance at Ron, which Harry took to mean that this was not the first treacle tart that had been baked that week, or day, even. Harry recalled to when Hermione had been pregnant with Rose: she had had a week where she almost exclusively only ate pudding. Maybe this time it was baked goods.</p><p>Just when Harry was about to say that he’d love some tart, he was interrupted by loud steps coming down the stairs, accompanied by the usual “Uncle Hawwyyy!” as Rose jumped into his arms to give him a great big hug. “Where have you beeeeen?” she asked, her head still in Harry’s neck. She was wearing a yellow sundress and matching flower sandals; her red hair was bushier by the day.</p><p>Harry felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, he hadn’t planned on Malfoy seeing him being uncle Harry to Rosie, it was such a different dynamic than he had with anyone else. On top of that, he still wasn’t sure whether Draco even wanted kids of his own, if he even <em>liked</em> kids, and he didn’t want to press it, but alas, here he was, holding his goddaughter in his arms. “I’ve been on a trip,” Harry explained, as Rose pulled away from his neck and looked into his eyes.</p><p>“All alone?” she asked, her voice filled with worry, her brows furrowing, and her lower lip pushing out to a pout. Harry’s heart leapt as he gave a glance in Malfoy’s direction. The man was observing the situation with an unreadable expression. Actually, he seemed to be a bit awkward, shifting the weight back and forth on his feet, measuring little Rosie up and down, then moving his eyes on Harry, holding her in his lap.</p><p>“No, er, not all alone,” Harry looked back at Rose a tad uncomfortably, and lowered her back on the ground, “I was with a… friend.” Harry felt a red blush creeping on his ears, “Rose, meet Draco Malfoy.” Harry motioned towards the man, and Rose followed the movement with her curious eyes to look at Malfoy.</p><p>She gave an evaluative look up and down Malfoy’s slim figure, wrapped in black, which seemed to both confuse and amuse Draco. “Pleased to meet you mister Malfoy,” she uttered finally, and Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “I’m Rose Granger-Weasley, how do you do,” Rosie extended her right hand quite vigorously, and after some hesitant seconds, Malfoy grabbed to shake it. His hand was enormous compared with her tiny palm, but they seemed to manage.</p><p>“Miss Rose, the pleasure is all mine,” Draco replied, smiling at her very warmly, which sent Harry’s stomach to do a backflip. Then he let go of Rosie’s tiny hand, and straightened himself, not breaking eye contact. It was a strange moment, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all following what was unfolding right in front of their eyes.</p><p>“I’m sure it is,” Rose replied, and lifted her chin. She then turned back to Harry, “I like him,” she said simply, and with that evaluation, she was off.</p><p>The four of them just stared at each other, baffled, not knowing what to say or do. Hermione was the first to speak, she swept a bunch of hair behind her ear, “I’m sorry, er, Molly gave her her copy of <em>Golden Manners for the Little Witch</em>, it’s quite an old edition,” she was scratching the back of her head awkwardly, and shifting where she stood.</p><p>“It’s quite alright,” Malfoy said, smiling politely, “she’s rather impressive.” Harry’s stomach didn’t seem to calm itself down, and he found himself wondering once again if Draco would ever want kids himself. They hadn’t talked about it yet, hell, they’d only been together for a week, but Harry couldn’t shake it out of his mind. He thought that Draco would make a good dad, a million times better than Lucius ever was to him.</p><p>“Thank you for that evaluation,” Ron intercepted flatly, Harry realized that he might not have been so happy about Malfoy meeting his daughter, “should we sit around the table, d’you reckon?” he continued tensely and swooped around the three of them to disappear into the kitchen. Harry wished he could somehow make them all get along, painfully remembering how long it took himself to come around, and Ron wasn’t even falling in love with Malfoy (hopefully).</p><p>Some minutes later, the four of them were sitting around the dinner table, each with a plate of treacle tart in front of them. Now even Ron hadn’t touched his, when usually he would have been halfway through his second slice already. The fire wasn’t crackling in the fireplace, it was hot enough as it was, the predicted heat wave only still making its way towards Britain, but Hermione had lit up some tealights on the table. The sun was still high up in the sky, and the dining area was flooding with light. They were all quiet, unsure how or where to start. Ron was giving unpleasant looks in Draco’s direction, who pretended not to see. Harry wanted to squeeze his hand comfortingly, but had no way of doing that without it being noticed.</p><p>“So,” Hermione started finally, clearing her throat, “I assume that this is about your dad, Draco?” she looked a tad disturbed at the situation, but didn’t fall back into silence, “When I read about it in the paper I couldn’t believe my eyes, it’s horribly vile, what they’re doing.”</p><p>Draco looked a bit nauseous, but nodded. “I received an owl from my mother this morning, telling me about it, I assume it was in yesterday’s <em>Prophet</em>?” Hermione nodded to confirm. “I appreciate your willingness to help my father, Merlin knows he’s done nothing to deserve it, but I’m not sure there’s anything we <em>can</em> do. Speaking from experience, once the Ministry has made a decision, they will go through with it, no matter what.” Draco’s words cut Harry like a knife: he had been on both sides of the Ministry’s power, and couldn't argue with what the man was saying. The Ministry was an old-fashioned institution that was a bit too complacent about its sense of right and wrong, something that could be disastrous if given too much power.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” came Ron’s blunt voice, he was looking between Draco and Harry like he was trying to solve a conspiracy directed towards him personally, “<em>why</em> exactly are we helping the Malfoys again?” Harry grimaced internally, he had known that getting Ron on board to help would be a challenge, and yet found himself unable to mediate the situation without hurting anyone’s feelings.</p><p>The same couldn't be said for Hermione. “<em>Ron!</em>” she huffed warningly, and clearly kicked him under the table. Ron let out a silent <em>Ow!</em> and reached to rub on where she had booted him.</p><p>“What?” Ron demanded and straightened himself on the chair, “I’m just saying, he hasn’t done plenty for us, that I can remember,” he brought a forkful of tart into his mouth and rolled his eyes. Harry didn’t like how his friend was acting, but couldn’t bring himself to blame him for it, either. Malfoy had been a right bastard until the very end, except for lying to the other Death Eaters about not recognizing Harry in the Manor, and maybe when he had hesitated to kill Dumbledore. Understandably, those two times did not make up for the endless digs at the Weasleys’ financials, Hermione’s wizarding heritage, and all other heaps of shit the git had poured down their necks for six years.</p><p>“It’s not a barter system,” Hermione’s shrill voice made Harry’s arm hair stand up. She could be very frightening when she wished to be. It seemed that even when Ron couldn’t get over Malfoy’s horrendous past, Hermione was clearly able to at least see past them, for now. Harry sensed that there would be a long conversation to be had about the subject, later.</p><p>“A what?” Ron asked, resembling much of himself when they were eleven, and still studying for their Herbology final.</p><p>“What I mean is,” Hermione gave a tired sigh much resembling the same scene around the library table all those years ago, <em>One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi</em> in front of them. Now she returned her attention to Harry and Draco sitting across from her, “it’s not an exchange system, we’re helping because it’s the right thing to do.” Funnily enough, it was exactly what Harry had told Draco she would say. He gave a meaningful look at Malfoy, who returned the gaze knowingly, like saying <em>Yeah, yeah I got it, you were right.</em></p><p>“Mhm, I guess,” Ron rolled his eyes again, and Harry wanted to apologise to Draco for his behaviour, “I have to say, Harry, you have a terrible taste in dating partners,” Ron said as he chewed on another piece of tart, “first my sister, now Malfoy, I mean–“</p><p>Ron was cut off by Harry and Hermione simultaneously. “<em>You told him</em>?” Harry turned to demand of Hermione, a bit surprised she would have done such a thing. He assumed that what he’d told her was in confidence, and was quite sure he had specifically told her <em>not</em> to tell Ron. Surely, she herself understood <em>not to tell Ron</em>.</p><p>At the same time Hermione turned to hiss at Ron, “I swear, one more word from you and I’ll kick you out of this table!” She then turned to Harry, “I’m sorry, I had to tell him why you were suddenly traveling, he would have come looking for you if I hadn’t,” then she gave a careful look towards Draco, who had been silent the whole time, “be glad he knows already, otherwise this night could go very differently.”</p><p>“I only have one question,” Ron intercepted, and earned a very nasty look from Hermione as soon as he did, “you can kick me out of the adult table after this, but, what is going on between you two? Are you… <em>dating</em> or something of the like?” Ron managed to pronounce dating like he was holding back from vomiting out a slug, his face doing a thing resembling when one sees someone else vomiting out a slug.</p><p>Harry could feel himself going red, it was once again creeping up his neck and spreading onto his face and ears. “Well, er, it’s… um–“ he started squirming in his seat, scratching the back of his head. What could he say? He wasn’t sure what they were doing. He wanted to say that they were dating, he wanted to say that very badly, but it had only been a week. A gorgeous week, but a week nonetheless, and though Harry wanted many more of them, no, he couldn’t say they were dating, per se.</p><p>Luckily, Malfoy intercepted whatever gibberish Harry would have started to spout: “It’s still new, I think we’re just working some stuff out.” Harry looked at Draco as he spoke, admiring his cool temper, and how good he looked in a black V-necked tee. When he realized his Malfoy had stopped talking, he nodded, eager to change the subject. Ron looked at them both very sternly, like he was trying to scout a lie somewhere, before nodding slowly and slouching back in his chair, turning his attention back to the pastry, not seeming like he was going to say anything more. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief.</p><p>Now that the topic had been more or less handled, it was time to get to the real reason they were there. “So, what’s the situation with your father, Draco?” Hermione asked, and got out a notepad and a quill from a brown leather briefcase Harry hadn’t noticed before. He realized she was about to go into lawyer mode, and felt more encouraged. Hermione could already do anything, but Lawyer Hermione would do everything and beyond.</p><p>Malfoy clasped his hands together on the table and adopted a very methodical tone. “Well, while it seems that the Ministry has already made a final decision, Harry managed to get an audience with its board for tomorrow, making a case for my father’s initial conviction to be reinstated.” Now they just had to manage that, Harry thought.</p><p>“That’s good news,” Hermione nodded, and something about her way of handling the matter calmed Harry’s churning innards down, she wasn’t trying to cradle them, she was trying to solve a problem. “That’s very good, it means we can still do something. Now,” she flipped through the notepad and laid it back down on the table, “I talked to my boss, Mrs Ackerman, and she thinks that if we can make a solid case for the preservation of a Death Eater, one that would somehow benefit the Ministry, we could have a chance at winning the case. All we need to do now is to get the board to agree to have a hearing in front of a judge.” Harry wanted to cringe at the word <em>preservation</em>, like Lucius was some kind of an artefact that would be displayed in a museum. Based on his expression, Draco was thinking along the same lines.</p><p>However, a few seconds later, Malfoy’s face scrunched up in realization. “Not <em>Syrena</em> Ackerman?” he asked suddenly, “You work for the infamous Syrena Ackerman?” Harry wondered if Draco knew something more than he did, but didn't think it the right moment to inquire about it. He knew Ackerman was the best of the best what it came to public defence lawyers, she had abandoned her job at a prestigious law firm to “fight the good fight” or whatever it had said on the cover of the random magazine Harry remembered seeing some years ago.</p><p>“The one,” Hermione replied, “she has agreed to be the defence lawyer for your father in this case, if we ever get that far.” She was still holding a quill in her hand. Ron had finished his slice of tart.</p><p>Draco looked taken aback, like Hermione had just personally promised to break Lucius out of jail. “I… thank you,” he stammered, and gave a nod at her. Maybe, for the first time, he was starting to see a light flickering at the end of what was admittedly turning out to be a very long tunnel.</p><p>“Don’t thank me yet,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows, “first we have to come up with a strategy. Now, I have some ideas here, they’re not thought all the way through, but we can work on them. For example, did you know that the Ministry still has only little information about how the Dark Mark actually works?”</p><p>Six hours and a treacle tart later, they had a plan. Not a perfect plan, but a plan nonetheless. Harry was meant to go to the Ministry board meeting the next day to present his case and hope for the best. But for now, Harry and Draco said goodbyes to Hermione and Ron, of whom the latter had seemed to come around a little more in the span of the night to what they were actually doing. In fact, Ron had been the one to come up with their final idea. As the door closed behind them, leaving the pair to stand in the warm night air, Draco said, “Well, that went well, I was sure Weasley would have thrown at least one hex at me.”</p><p>Harry gave a tired laugh, “Come on, let’s go home, I’m starving.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Azkaban</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains a trigger warning for homophobia.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The board room was on <em>Level 1:</em> <em>Minister for Magic and Support Staff</em>. It was a large room, with an oval table controlling the space, office chairs placed to surround it, and some lamps set at even distances on the mahogany table top. The walls were dark wood, and were decorated with paintings of London and of the building they were under. On the far wall, there was a large window bewitched to display the view of London, similar to every other office window in the Ministry. Harry had been in the board room countless of times, having been a member of the Ministry board for a year and a half, ever since he got promoted to Head Auror. Evergrey was only his stand-in, mind you. The utterly tedious memories Harry attached to this specific room made him feel calmer as he now stood in front of the group of witches and wizards.</p><p>Kingsley was sitting at the end of the table, in front of the window, and seven other people were sitting on either side of the desk. Patrick was sitting closest to Harry on the right, where Harry’s own seat usually was. The other six people were the heads of their respective departments at the Ministry: Arnold Peasegood from the <em>Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes</em>; Gethsemane Prickle from the <em>Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures</em>; Edward Scot from the <em>Department of International Magical Cooperation</em>; Percy Weasley from the <em>Department of Magical Transportation</em>; Hamish MacFarlan Jr. from the <em>Department of Magical Games and Sports</em>; and finally, Penelope Jameson from the <em>Department of Mysteries.</em></p><p>The previous night Harry and Malfoy had cooked at Harry’s place after midnight, but Malfoy had spent the night at home, keeping Narcissa company. That had left Harry too much time for thinking, for worrying about today, about Malfoy and their future together, pretty much everything he could possibly worry about, he did. When his alarm clock had gone off at 10am, it felt as though he had just fallen asleep, and had to take a cold shower to really wake up, along with approximately four cups of coffee. Harry took a deep breath, he felt as though he was swaying where he stood. The old grandfather clock against the wall was indicating that it was noon. It was time for him to start.</p><p>Harry straightened himself and gave a look at all the people who were there because of him. Evergrey gave him an encouraging nod. “Right,” Harry started, “thank you for being here today, and for agreeing to listen to what I have to say.” He had rehearsed his speech a thousand times in his head, but was still afraid of making a mess of it.</p><p>Immediately, his flow was interrupted, when Edward Scot started speaking. “Don’t thank us,” he chortled, “thank Kingsley for bloody forcing us to be here!” Edward was a short, plump man in his sixties, with a red face and a balding head. He was a man of reason and a fair judge of character, but his opening line did not encourage Harry about his mission. A light chuckle went across the room, Harry tried to go along with it.</p><p>“Thank you for showing up anyway,” he continued, and was hoping he’d be able to finish his speech before anyone else talked over him, “I will go straight to the point. Today I want to put forth a proposition for a judge to reinstate Lucius Malfoy’s previous sentence of time served in prison, rather than an execution.” Harry’s hands were starting to sweat, and he tried to muster every bit of confidence he had to deliver his points. He would have to reap the majority’s vote in order to go forward, and right now it didn’t seem all too likely. The people in front of him didn’t look too happy to even be in this meeting, let alone question their original decision.</p><p>“Listen son,” said Hamish MacFarlan Jr., a man in his mid-seventies, and more stubborn than Scot. He was a man of principle, and Harry already knew his head wouldn’t be turned easily. “You better have a hell of a good reason for us to spare that maggot of a wizard, he’s the worst of them all I reckon.” To Harry’s disheartenment, an agreeing murmur swept the room. Why did Lucius have to be such a snake back in the day? It made it all the harder to convince a bunch of politicians to not off him.</p><p>“I know, Hamish,” Harry nodded, and prepared for his first argument, “I hope you’ll still hear me out, and if you don’t mind, I’ll now present my first point of reasoning.” Hamish nodded approvingly, though still seeming to think the whole affair was a waste of his time. Harry cleared his throat nervously, hoping no one noticed the slight tremble in his hands, and then turned his attention to Penelope Jameson, who was sitting closest to him on the left side. She was the Head of the Department of Mysteries, and Harry’s best bet to get his foot in the door. “Penelope,” Harry addressed her, and she looked a tad startled to be talked to directly, “how much does the Department of Mysteries <em>really</em> know about the Dark Mark?”</p><p>Jameson, a round-faced woman in her thirties with dark curly hair, had only been the Head of her department for a few years, but was smart as a whip and a very capable researcher before joining the Ministry in the first place. Her academically directed interests made her the one person Harry knew he had the chance to persuade. Penelope looked around the room, like she was trying to find answers in the faces that were now turned to look at her instead of Harry. “Er, I guess… not much,” she admitted.</p><p><em>Perfect</em>, she would be Harry’s path to convincing the others – he already had his next question lined up. “Would you agree it important information to have, not only historically, but practically?” Harry continued. Investigating the unknown dark magic behind the symbol might well be Lucius’ way to freedom, or at least, back to life.</p><p>Now Penelope was starting to look a bit uncomfortable, she had clearly understood what Harry was trying to do, and that she had no other option than to reply truthfully, even if she was playing straight into Harry’s hands. Besides, who was to say she even supported the execution decision wholeheartedly? Maybe she wouldn't mind being the one to give the board a reason to reconsider. “I would have to say yes,” she replied again, her ears flushing scarlet.</p><p>Harry pressed on, asking a painfully obvious question, just to make his point come across as clearly as possible. “And would it be possible to investigate the Dark Mark if all Death Eaters are gone?” Some expressions around the room started looking sour, while others looked almost intrigued as to where this was going. Harry thought he could have made a good lawyer, if he didn't hate studying so much. Well, truthfully, it was Hermione who had arranged this whole back and forth to unravel – Harry only got to act the part.</p><p>Now Penelope was squirming in her seat. “I suppose not, no,” she confirmed, the red spreading from her ears to her face as she was trying to make subtle glances at the other board members for help. They didn’t jump to her aid.</p><p>“Then,” Harry continued, feeling a bit too ruthless now to poor Penelope, “would it be an impossible proposition to spare the life of Lucius Malfoy in order to conduct such experiments to find out more about the magic behind the Dark Mark?” Harry tried his best to remember all of the cunning formulations Hermione had laced him with the previous night. <em>Make them agree with you</em>, she’d said over and over again, <em>make them agree to some and they’ll agree to more, that way it starts to make sense in their head.</em></p><p>Now Penelope took a deep breath and clearly gave up whatever fight she had been trying to put up. “I can’t say that it would,” she said quietly, and Harry nodded half as a confirmation and half as a thank you.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but I have to interrupt you,” said Hamish, perking up in his seat, “for the sake of the argument I’m going to pretend I’m entertaining the idea of releasing this monster from his current verdict,” he gave a meaningful look around the room and preened his large grey moustache, “why Lucius Malfoy, in particular, I have to ask? Can’t we use another, less dangerous convict?”</p><p>“Ah,” Harry said, relieved that he was prepared to answer the first question now thrown his way, “I thought you might ask that. See, Malfoy’s wife, Narcissa, was just released from Azkaban some months ago, his son, Draco, is currently staying with her,” he tried to describe them as objectively as possible, not give away any hint that he might have a personal relation with all this. If that would come out, the case would be thrown out the window faster than he could say Azkaban. “His family being free, and living in London, is our advantage. He still has something to gain, we can arrange family visits in exchange for cooperation, to keep him docile.” Again, it was all Hermione, and Draco’s sour face of the previous night now popped up in Harry’s head as he was presenting the argument.</p><p>Hamish was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, but didn't seem to come up with a counterargument, and finally nodded, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t the only one to have questions, and him presenting one opened the doors for a stream of new ones: “Where would he be kept for research?” <em>At the Ministry’s holding cells, or a safe house</em>. “How many times would he be allowed to see his family?” <em>About once a month, it’s really up to the judge. </em>“How long would he be studied?” <em>As long as it takes.</em> “Who says we don’t just study him first, then kill him off after?” <em>Professional courtesy, human rights, the law, Ministry’s reputation; after all, we’re not animals here to take advantage of something and then throw it away when we’re done with it.</em> Kingsley was the only one to stay quiet throughout the hour they were discussing the matter.</p><p>When Harry thought he couldn’t bear standing there, in front of everyone, for a minute longer, Percy spoke up. “So, in practice, what do you want to do?” he urged. A wave of relief for the loaded question forced Harry to hold back a thankful smile for the man.</p><p>“I’m glad you asked,” he started, “I propose a vote, if the majority in this room think that Lucius Malfoy’s life should be spared for magical research, he will be presented in front of a judge for reconsideration of his verdict, if not, then… well, I stand defeated, but moreover, saddened that you have passed up on a fruitful research opportunity.” That there was all Harry, maybe he really <em>should</em> become an attorney.</p><p>“Fine, but please quit the lawyer talk, I hate that slanted tone,” Hamish huffed and rolled his eyes, “I will agree to a vote, but on one condition,” he nodded towards Patrick, “Evergrey here will be suspended from it, he’s biased because he’s working for you.” Everyone around the table were nodding in agreement, except for Kingsley, who still hadn’t participated in the conversation. Evergrey just shrugged and pushed his chair further away from the table.</p><p>“Seems fair,” Harry confirmed, “now, let’s get to the point, do you vote <em>aye</em> or <em>nay</em>?” After a few minutes of soul crushing silence, Penelope was the first to speak. <em>Aye</em>. Harry felt his heart leap from excitement. Then, Hamish, who voted nay, as expected. Percy voted aye<em>.</em> Edward Scot also voted aye, and Harry started to feel hopeful. One more aye and he’d have won! Then, Gethsemane Prickle, who had been quiet during the meeting, voted nay, as did Arnold Peasegood. It was three against three, and not looking good for Harry, or Lucius for that matter.</p><p>Harry’s eyes were now drawn to the Minister, sitting silently at the end of the table, as were the eyes of everyone else’s, too. “Kingsley, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Harry said nervously, his palms felt clammy and he had to remind himself to breathe, “which way do you vote?” This was the first moment that would decide the fate of the Malfoys, and it could put a stop to the motion very quickly.</p><p>Kingsley gave an evaluative look around the people sitting at the table, meeting their expectant gazes. He did not change his posture from where he was casually sitting back in the chair, hands clasped together on the table. Harry’s heart was now hammering, waiting for the man to speak. “Well Harry,” came the low rumble of Kingsley’s voice, “I guess I would have to vote aye.”</p><p>Harry felt like he could’ve leapt over the table to hug the man, but he settled for nodding at him gratefully. “Thank you, sir,” he responded. He had made it through the board meeting, now it was up to Syrena Ackerman to get Lucius’ conviction rescinded. It was off Harry’s hands.</p><p>Well, as it turned out, it wasn’t exactly off his hands yet. An amused expression spread across Kingsley’s face as he sat more straight in his chair, and looked at Harry like he had only made his life harder by voting for the motion. “Don’t thank me,” he asserted, “after all, it’s you who now has to convince mister Malfoy to appear in front of a judge.”</p><p>***</p><p>Azkaban was somehow worse than Harry had imagined it. The air was cold and humid, making its way under Harry’s clothes and into his bones, making him shiver despite the layers. This part of the North Sea was not experiencing a heat wave like the rest of Europe, Harry doubted they ever did, he doubted anything good ever happened in this place. The bleak rain clouds made it almost dark even in the middle of the day, and the wind anywhere else would’ve whipped up dirt and trash, but everything in this place was made out of stone, and the only thing the wind was pulling now was Harry, as he took the few short steps inside.</p><p>But the worst thing were the dementors. Harry had had the fortune of not meeting one in years, and here they were floating about in the dozens, if not hundreds. There was a strong shiver of cold and revolt going up Harry’s spine, as he suddenly remembered how it felt to have every good feeling you have wiped away, and the bad ones amplified. Harry tried thinking about Draco to restore at least a piece of joy in himself, but all he could think of were the problems they were inevitably going to face, and self-doubts about not being good enough for him. <em>It’s the dementors, it’s not real,</em> he tried convincing himself.</p><p>The prison clerk checked his ID, and a guard motioned Harry to join him. Both of the employees looked about twenty years older than they were, and Harry thought how there was probably nothing anyone could give him to work here. As they went deeper into the prison, however, the dementors’ affect cleared a bit, and Harry felt like he could think straight again. He followed the guard along a corridor to an elevator, and they went up for what felt like forever, at least fifteen floors if not more, before the door let out a sad <em>ding</em> when it opened. The guard walked about halfway into the corridor, before stopping and pointing Harry into a visitor room.</p><p>He looked inside, it was empty. There was only a table with two chairs on either side, and a small window on the wall, where one could see the dementors hovering by. There was another chill going through Harry, as he stepped into the cold room, his bones feeling like they were turning into ice inside of him. He took a seat in one of the chairs, and stared at the wall, seconds feeling like hours; he thought he couldn’t get out of that place fast enough. He couldn't wait to be back home, warm, feeling somewhat happy again, maybe with Draco.</p><p>Now, though the door, another guard rushed in a handcuffed man, and sat him down on the table roughly. The guard gave Lucius’ shoulder a squeeze of warning, and left the room, banging the door closed behind him, leaving the two in the bleak room. Malfoy looked… bad, to say the least. His greasy hair was drooping on his head, half covering his face, and his bushy beard hid the other half. Harry would not have recognized him in a million years, if it weren’t for his eyes. Bright grey, same as Draco’s. Harry wished he hadn't noticed it.</p><p>Then came the one other thing Harry could recognize anywhere: “Potter,” Lucius spat out. He was eyeing Harry like he was planning on jumping over the table to strangle him. Harry was surprised that even after rotting in prison for ten years, Lucius still had the strength and motivation to loathe Harry to the bone.</p><p>“Lucius,” Harry responded in kind. He was too cold to produce a facial expression, polite or not, so he just settled for sitting there, teeth clanking, wishing he was home.</p><p>An enraged expression came over Lucius’ already discontented face as he started hissing at Harry: “How dare you address me by my first–“</p><p>Harry interrupted him, “I don’t have time for this,” he said matter-of-factly, if someone wanted out of this situation, it was him, “believe me, <em>I</em> don’t want to be here any more than <em>you</em> want me to be here, but I’ve come to save your wretched life.” He fought the urge to shudder as a cold gust of wind whistled in the corners of the room, he felt as though his bones were freezing over.</p><p>The infuriated expression on Lucius was quickly smoothed out by a face of confusion: “Wh–“</p><p>Harry didn’t have time for questions he was going to answer anyway, so he just decided to keep talking. “<em>As you</em> might have heard,” he pressed, somewhat impatiently, “the Ministry issued an execution order for all convicted Death Eaters, that includes you.” There was the premise of why he was there. Lucius was facing execution, and Harry was here to tell him it was going to be stopped.</p><p>Now Lucius looked like he had just eaten a vomit-flavoured Every Flavour Bean. “I am aware, and would prefer to spend the time I have left <em>alone</em>,” he scoffed. Lucius was sitting back straight, his cuffed wrists on his lap, chin raised, overall looking like he was trying to hold on to whatever dignity he had left, despite looking like a homeless person. Harry tried not to slouch, ignoring the cold digging into every inch of his body.</p><p>“I don’t care what you prefer,” Harry snapped, “I just said I’ve come here to spare you, so shut up and listen to me,” the relentless presence of the Dementors made him even more irritable than he already would’ve been in the situation, “I’m here on behalf of the Ministry–“</p><p>Lucius went whiter than he already was, but kept a disdainful expression on his face as he spat out: “The Ministry!? Why on Merlin’s green earth would they send <em>you</em>?”</p><p><em>Oh, for fuck’s sake</em>, Harry really wanted to roll his eyes. “Well, first, I’m the only one there who is advocating for your conviction to be overturned back to a prison sentence, and second, I happen to be the Head Auror,” he said plainly.</p><p>Lucius’ eyes widened and he seemed to be forgetting that he was supposed to be acting arrogant, “<em>You’re the–</em> since <em>when</em>? By Salazar, that place has gone to the dogs,” he turned his gaze at the small window and shook his head to himself, looking like he would have very much liked to leave a strong-worded complaint about the matter, maybe even extort someone into firing Harry.</p><p>“It’s not relevant,” Harry said, and the chilliness of his voice had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, “what is relevant, though, is that I need you to agree to go through a trial for the death sentence to be converted back to time served in prison.” By now Harry wasn’t very much in the mood to save Lucius anymore, and almost hoped he would refuse. He felt tempted to just leave, say Lucius didn’t want to do it, but he knew he would never do that, he would never be capable.</p><p>“Just like that?” the man asked, not seeming hopeful.</p><p>Harry sighed. “There is something you have to agree to in return,” he revealed, and even though personally didn’t think the bargain too bad (Lucius would get to live, but also get out of Azkaban, mind you), he was sure he would only see downsides, the ungrateful bastard.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked, sounding resigned. Harry imagined a decade being surrounded by Dementors would do that to a person. Hell, he was already drained after twenty minutes in this place.</p><p>Harry decided to go straight to the point, it wasn’t up to him if Lucius refused the deal. “The Department of Mysteries wants to investigate your Dark Mark,” he said. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't the faintest clue as to <em>how </em>they were going to conduct said investigations, but whatever it was, it was bound to be better than sitting in Azkaban, or being dead.</p><p>Lucius’ face scrunched up in pure hatred. “No, absolutely not,” he spat out, “I’m not agreeing to be some kind of a guinea pig in–“</p><p>“In exchange for your life?” Harry interrupted, he wasn’t particularly interested in bargaining with Lucius, but thought he’d at least make clear the advantages that were related. “You’d get to see your family,” he said calmly, and leaned back in his chair to let Lucius mull over the proposition.</p><p>Instead of looking happy, or hopeful, the man just looked away, seeming pained by the mention of Draco and Narcissa. “They don’t care about me,” his voice was suddenly hoarse, like it was stuck to his throat. Harry could’ve sworn Lucius was trembling, though that might have just been the cold.</p><p>Harry leaned forward and put his clasped hands on the table. “They <em>do</em> care about you,” he said, unsure why he was trying to convince the man, the most heinous person he had known besides Voldemort himself, to save himself, “against their better judgment I reckon,” he had to add, “Narcissa, she was a wreck when the Ministry announced their plans for the Death Eaters, and Draco… he’s affected, too, I know it.”</p><p>Now Lucius’ eyes flickered to Harry sharply, and he looked like he was about to jump up from his chair the way he inched forward to lean on the table. “How do you know that?” he hissed, his eyes dark, and for a second he seemed back to his old self, “Have you gone near my family? I swear to Merlin and Salazar himself if you hurt them I’ll–“</p><p>“You won’t do anything, because you can’t,” Harry retorted calmly, but sternly, trying to draw from his inner authority as Head Auror, “but just so you know, I’m not planning on hurting your family, that’s more your forte.” The remark earned a scathing look from Lucius. Suddenly, Harry felt a need to say something he had hoped to avoid, now finding himself torn between the truth and evasion. “Not that it’s any of your business but,” he decided to just go for it, “I’m involved with your son, so you can be sure I’ll never hurt him.”</p><p>Harry half expected Lucius to throw a fit, to somehow break out his chains and hex Harry dead, but he just looked perplexed, though suspicious. “Involved? What does that mean, involved?”</p><p><em>He knew what it meant,</em> Harry was sure of it. “I think you know what it means, I think you’ve always known,” he just said, waiting for the puzzle pieces to click in Lucius’ mind. Waiting for him to realize something he already knew.</p><p>The man shook his head, looking at Harry, horrified. “It’s not true,” he whispered, now changing colour from white to green. He looked like he didn't know whether it was safest to not look at Harry directly, or to keep him under surveillance. Neither of the approaches would change the situation as it was.</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes. “I really don’t care, Lucius, about what you think,” he said plainly at the man who was now gaping at him, “I care about Draco, so much so that I’m here, right now, trying to save your life <em>for him</em>, against my better judgment.” Harry wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, granted he had brought it up, but hopefully Lucius would still have plenty of time to process the news, without Harry there.</p><p>“Get away from my son, you won’t turn him into your freakish ways, Potter,” Lucius now growled at him, voice low, his icy stare drilling into Harry.</p><p>Harry decided to not waste one moment giving a shit about the opinion of Lucius fucking Malfoy, decidedly the worst of the Malfoys. “What ways exactly?” he challenged, narrowing his eyes, “Being loved by someone? Merlin knows he’s never gotten that from you.” Harry crossed his arms where he was sitting, leaning back in his chair, facing Lucius’ stare like it was nothing.</p><p>The man looked at a loss for words. His expression was still cross, but his mouth was searching for a retort that wasn’t coming. “I–“</p><p>“I actually don’t care about anything you have to say about this,” Harry said plainly, and finally stood up in the chilly room, giving a look at Lucius, chained up and defeated, once again. He looked quite small from where Harry was standing, “Do we have an agreement? Will you agree to show up to court?” Harry asked. It was now or never.</p><p>Lucius didn't look back at him, he was staring at the wall opposite, and then at the table. He was quiet for a long while, and Harry’s eyes sought the window, behind which black, cloaked figures could be seen, floating far away in the rain clouds. There was a shudder that shook Harry once again, and he realized that Lucius hadn’t spoken in a few minutes. Harry couldn't believe he would pass up the opportunity, but there was little for him to do, so he just shrugged and turned to leave.</p><p>“Fine,” Lucius’ throaty voice was barely audible in the room.</p><p>“Brilliant,” Harry replied immediately, eager to leave Azkaban and never come back, eager to tell Draco the good news, “someone from the Ministry will come fetch you when it’s time.” With that, Harry knocked on the inside of the door, and seconds later one of the guards opened it to let him out, the other ready to escort him the hell out of this place.</p><p>With the same throaty voice, under his breath, Lucius spoke: “Bloody Gryffindor scum,” he muttered after Harry.</p><p>Harry closed his eyes to gather up the last bits of his strength for the conversation – he turned at his heel to face Lucius, who now turned his disgusted face at Harry. Harry lifted his chin, and seized the man’s eyes with his own, before saying, “You’re a grown man, Lucius. It’s a school house. Get over it.”</p><p>***</p><p>Harry couldn’t have gotten out of that Merlin forsaken place faster if he flied. He remembered gliding through the seemingly endless corridors and toward the portkey, eventually handed to him by the front clerk. Harry grabbed it tightly, and waited for the twisting and turning to start, taking him back to the Ministry, where he had left. After the (once again) horrific journey, and after surviving the strong bout of nausea that invariably followed, Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, and Flooed back to his place.</p><p>At home, he collapsed onto the sofa. It felt as though every joint in his body was aching, his toes still frozen from the cold, shivering, and feeling like no happy feeling was ever going to cradle him again. The warmth of his living room was the first comforting thing he noticed, when his limbs started warming up again. Of course, he knew the dreary feelings wouldn't last forever, but he couldn’t help the wave of anxiety washing over him as he saw Draco emerge from the kitchen, feeling like the only things they would ever face were problems.</p><p>Now, however, Malfoy was looking at Harry with a reserved look on his face, nervously twirling a spoon in his cup of cold tea. “What did he say?” Draco asked, his voice coming out as more of a croak than an actual sound. Harry felt a sting of pity for him.</p><p>“He agreed,” Harry said immediately, not wanting to keep Draco in suspense for one second longer than necessary. <em>He agreed</em>, indeed. Now it finally felt as though Harry had done his part, and it was up to Hermione and Mrs Ackerman to sort it all out with the judge.</p><p>Draco drew a sharp gasp like he had been holding his breath for the past hour, and collapsed to sit right next to the sofa, leaning onto the cushion and stretching out his legs. His placed the tea out of his hands and let his head fall backwards to lean on the couch cushion, eyes facing the ceiling. “It’s going to be alright,” he said, like a whisper. Harry hadn’t truly realized how hopeless Draco had been about the whole matter, until he saw a tear escaping the corner of the man’s eye, and streaking its way down to his ear.</p><p>“Hopefully,” Harry said very quietly, trying to make Malfoy feel a bit more certain that it was indeed all going to be okay. He didn’t want to interrupt the moment he was clearly having.</p><p>After a few minutes of them both being silent, Draco turned his head to look at Harry. “How was it?” he asked.</p><p>Harry didn’t know how to respond, it had been awful. The Dementors, the cold, the constant wind and rain, the bleak corridors and rooms. “I’ll be glad to never be there again,” he said quietly, trying not to shudder to much at the memory.</p><p>“It’s the Dementors, isn’t it?” Draco said suddenly, and Harry’s head jerked up to look at him, “I remember, they had an effect on you, more than on the rest of us.” Malfoy’s grey eyes were drilling into Harry, looking for answers, looking for Harry to explain <em>why</em> he was so affected by the Dementors, but Harry couldn’t provide an explanation that would make sense. He barely understood it himself.</p><p>“I’m not thirteen anymore,” he scoffed instead, “and I haven’t forgotten about you making fun of me for it.” He recalled back to the countless times Draco took the piss about Harry passing out when he first encountered the Dementor in the Hogwarts Express, his mother’s last words, screaming <em>Harryyyyy</em> in his head.</p><p>Draco sighed deeply. “I’m sorry about that, and I’m sorry about everything else I’ve done, I’m just so fucking sorry about everything, you know,” he said seriously, shaking his head and turning it away from Harry, who suddenly had no answers. <em>I forgive you</em> sounded clunky and self-centred, Draco was trying to accept his past, not atone it, and the words got stuck in Harry’s throat. Gracelessly, Malfoy got up from the floor and flopped onto the couch, pulling Harry’s legs in his lap, “but to be fair,” he continued, “I was a bit hopelessly in love with you back then, or at least, I was going to be.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth opened, but he couldn't think of anything to say, his heart had started racing. “Malfoy–“ he started feebly.</p><p>“I know, it doesn’t make up for it, but just so you know,” Draco shrugged, his thumb rubbing circles in Harry’s calf, as he looked back at him bashfully. Was he… blushing? A scarlet colour started creeping up Harry’s neck, too. All that time, during the Yule Ball, during the Triwizard challenges, even when he was sneaking into the Room of Requirement to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, and especially when Harry caught him crying in the bathroom. When Draco threw that first hex at him, to drive away the person he was in love with from seeing him break down in private…</p><p>Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, grabbed Malfoy’s hand in his own and looked at him as gently as he could. “I think I’m a bit hopelessly in love with you right now,” he replied, feeling his cheeks flush hot. The look he got back from Draco sent a warm shiver down his spine, in the best way possible. He noticed he was gently rubbing Malfoy’s left-hand ring finger, and hoped that he didn’t take note of the absentminded action, no matter how hopeful it was.</p><p>“Even after meeting my father again?” Draco asked instead, a look of hesitation spreading over his face.</p><p>Harry frowned. “What do you mean? I still have all my limbs attached, don’t I?” he squeezed the man’s hand reassuringly, and wanted to wrap him in a huge embrace, but thought that the conversation was more important than any urge he was experiencing.</p><p>“Can I tell you something?” Draco asked suddenly. He had a very calm look on his face, like he had come to some sort of a resolution he was now revealing.</p><p>“Always,” Harry replied, heart suddenly beating faster. He hoped Draco couldn’t feel his pulse, holding his hand, while he raised his eyes to face the grey stare now looking straight at him, making him feel more seen than he had in a very long while. Eyes open, arms open, heart open, Harry was ready for whatever Malfoy was going to say next.</p><p>“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” Draco said quietly, not turning his eyes away, “even when I think I did, ever since I first felt it, do you know what I mean?” <em>Even when he came to Harry’s office for the first time all those months ago. Had he known he loved Harry? What about that time in the pub? Had he known then? Had he wanted to take Harry aside and tell him everything, holding his hands and staring straight into his eyes like he was now? </em>There were so many questions yet unanswered, but for once, Harry knew he’d have time to ask them. He was only able to nod vigorously, not managing to produce a reply worth what he has just heard.</p><p>There was only one thing Harry could profess, and now it was gushing out of him: “I wish I’d seen you sooner, I wish I’d loved you sooner, maybe I could’ve made some things better.” Maybe he could’ve saved Malfoy from the Death Eaters, from his family. Even Harry knew how impossible that sounded, but he just wished he could’ve made some things better for Draco.</p><p>Malfoy shook his head gently, still holding Harry’s gaze. “No, I think it’s better this way, I think we’re better now than we would’ve been.” He was right – they would’ve been wrong for each other then, too abrupt, too burdened by what had come to pass between them. Now they were better: more patient, more gentle.</p><p>Harry nodded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Hearing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry was wearing his neatest Head Auror robes, the black ones with the silver embellishments, carefully steamed and ironed. That morning he had – for the first time in weeks – shaved closely and done his hear carefully, Malfoy almost ruining his ensemble by pulling him back into bed and kissing him impatiently. “Fuck, is it bad if I want to rip these robes right off you?” Draco had murmured into the kiss.</p><p>Harry had chuckled into his delicious mouth and pulled away reluctantly. “I have to go, I’ll see you at the hearing.”</p><p>Even though he wanted to be by Draco’s side that morning, and through the hearing, Harry had to be at the Ministry early to oversee Lucius’ transfer, and was already leaving, albeit grudgingly, when Draco started to get out of bed. It had been two weeks since Harry had visited Azkaban, and he felt that a lot of things had happened in quite the short amount of time since then. Hell, a lot of things <em>had</em> happened: the court date had been set (and fast-tracked), Harry had had to convince Kingsley that he wasn’t going to fully return to work early even though he was overseeing Mr Malfoy’s security through the trial, Kingsley had been anxiously shouting at him about the elections that were still looming in the distance, but what was most noteworthy, in Harry’s opinion, was that Draco had travelled back to Italy, and made Moretti a partner in the business. He was now in charge of the shop indefinitely, until Draco would either return, or sell his share to Moretti – Harry hoped for the latter. Today, though, the plan was for Draco to get ready, to fetch Narcissa from home, and to be at the Ministry at eleven.</p><p>A few minutes later, Harry was standing in front of the holding cells at the Ministry, waiting for a portkey to appear, carrying two Aurors with Lucius in tow. At 9am sharp, Blackburn and Rivers turned up in front of Harry with a swirl, clutching Lucius firmly between them. All three of them looked more or less nauseous from the churning of the travel, and Harry felt sympathetic to their condition, but didn’t comment on it.</p><p>Lucius, who was now looking pale green, was glaring at Harry, as per usual. “Lucius,” Harry uttered simply, “welcome back to the Ministry,” and when he received silence in return, continued, “you have a few hours to prepare, we’ve recovered some robes that will surely fit you, if you’ll just follow me.” Harry swirled around on his heel and started for the cell at the end of the corridor without waiting for a response. In front of the more private, though still austere, cell, Twigs was already waiting for the convoy that was now stomping his way.</p><p>At ten forty-five, Harry had checked and strengthened the protective spells around the cells and Level 10, one could never be too careful when bringing a former Death Eater to the Ministry. He had had a meeting with his team of Aurors, and they were now in position all around Courtroom Ten, and outside of its doors, as well as few who would escort Mr Malfoy from his cell and into the trial.</p><p>Five minutes later, Draco and Narcissa descended down the steps from the ninth floor to enter the courtroom. Harry was there waiting for them with McGallon, both of them giving a polite nod at Narcissa, who didn’t seem to be looking too chatty. Harry thought it best to leave her to take a seat and calm down before the start of the trial. As Narcissa already went inside the courtroom, Draco looked at Harry hesitantly. “Can you give us a moment, Katherin?” Harry asked McGallon, who eyed the pair of them like she was trying to assess a possible threat, but then just nodded and disappeared inside.</p><p>Now it was just the pair of them, standing in the corridor. Draco stepped closer to Harry, and raised a hand to gently tangle in his hair, rubbing his scalp. They were very close, the gap between them almost invisible. Harry could feel Draco warm breath on his cheek, but didn’t think it the best time to start snogging him, so he raised his hand on Draco’s waist and rubbed his side. “No matter which way this goes,” Draco said quietly, “I just want to say thanks… for doing this, for helping my family, you know how much they mean to me.”</p><p>Harry nodded, blushing. He didn’t really know how to reply, he was only doing what was right, right? At least he hoped he was, and in any case, Draco was already sick and tired of hearing about ‘the right thing’ anyway. “Of course, you know,” Harry tried to put into words what he wanted to say, but wasn’t quite sure himself what that was, so he just settled at lifting his hand to give a squeeze to Draco’s bicep and saying, “let’s just hope all goes well.”</p><p>Draco looked away and nodded. There was nothing that either of them could do, it was up to the judge now to seal Lucius’ fate. Harry didn’t know how Draco would react if the worst would come to the worst, and he didn’t dare to speculate. When Draco turned back to look at Harry, his silvery eyes had a determined fire behind them, and although his face had turned scarlet in the now dim corridor, he didn’t look ashamed. Before Harry could reason against it, he had kissed Draco on the lips, hastily, a bit too far on the side, their cheekbones clunking together awkwardly. Draco didn’t even have the chance to react, but when Harry pulled back, there was a sad smile on Draco’s features.</p><p>At eleven, everyone was seated. There was an anxious ripple of conversation going over the room, as what seemed like the whole Ministry were squeezed into the round courtroom. The Wizengamot was not in session, leaving that section of the room currently empty, while all of the people wanting in were left trying to place themselves every which way into the seats that would allow them to follow the trial. Hermione was sitting next to Harry, but Ron had been busy with something Harry had not really paid attention to when Hermione had explained it. Draco and Narcissa were sitting at the other side of the room, both of them pale as ghosts, while the people around them were giving them unconcealed stares and murmuring something amongst each other. Draco was making nervous glances towards Harry, who tried to look encouraging.</p><p>However, when Syrena Ackerman entered the room with Lucius in her footsteps, Draco looked like he was about to be sick. Something deep inside Harry’s stomach turned, and he tore his eyes off Draco to look at Lucius now taking a seat in the large chair in the middle of the room. He had shaved, and his hair looked cleaner, his robes changed from prison garments to a simple black outfit which he seemed to hate wearing with every fibre of his being. Despite these adjustments, he still looked rough, the dark circles under his eyes visible even to Harry, who was sitting high up in the crowd, and his presence somehow worn from what it had once been.</p><p>Syrena Ackerman, on the other hand, was a thin witch wearing dark red velvety robes, her grey-streaked hair in a neat bun. Her sharp eyes were focused as they scanned the room, and her lips were pressed tightly shut. Harry could almost hear the sigh of admiration Hermione emitted.</p><p>The judge, Edgar Bones Jr, who Harry knew was the nephew of Amelia Bones – former head of the Wizengamot – and second cousin to Susan Bones whom he went to Hogwarts with, cleared his throat loudly. “Case 100094378, Ministry versus Lucius Malfoy,” he started, “reopened, due to special circumstances. Present are Mrs Ackerman with the defendant. Is there a representative of the Ministry present?”</p><p>Edward Scot stood up at the front row. “Yes, sir, I mean, judge, I mean, Your Honour. Edward Herwood Scot, sir, Your Honour,” he announced in a faltering voice, wiping his sweaty palms in his robes.</p><p>“Very well,” Judge Bones uttered and lowered his reading glasses even further on his nose to peer at the stack of parchments in front of him, “I understand the Ministry wishes to rescind the death penalty, and reduce Mr Malfoy’s sentence to time served, is that correct? Mrs Ackerman?” Bones was a man in his thirties, but with a thin set of hair in his head and bags under his eyes that indicated that he’d been in the job for thirty years too long.</p><p>As Scot sat down, Mrs Ackerman stepped forward, clutching a stack of documents in her arms. “That is correct, Your Honour.”</p><p>“And what is the argument behind this appeal?” The judge asked in a tired voice.</p><p>“Mister Malfoy has agreed to assist the Department of Mysteries here in the Ministry to investigate formerly unknown Dark Magic, more particularly the Dark Mark.”</p><p>“I see,” the judge said, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else at this precise moment than in Courtroom Ten, at some Death Eater’s hearing. To be completely honest, Harry couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. “And I see here that you have all but twelve people willing to testify in advocacy of Mister Malfoy’s release from the death penalty, I think that’s hardly necessary Mrs Ackerman,” Bones sighed, “two will be sufficient, it’s up to you who they are.”</p><p>After some minutes of heated whispering between Ackerman and Hermione, who had jumped up from her seat to descend down the steps and talk with her boss, the first person to testify was Penelope Jameson, who dutifully answered all of Ackerman’s questions, along with the questions from the judge. <em>No, we have nearly no information about the Dark Mark. Yes, it would be useful information to have for the future. No, nobody else besides Mr Malfoy will be able to provide such a rare research opportunity.</em> Meanwhile, Draco was going greener by the minute, unable to look at either his father, or Harry, or the judge, and just opting to stare at his hands, whereas Lucius was getting redder and redder where he was sitting.</p><p>The second person to take the stand was the prison guard from Azkaban, who looked simultaneously very happy to be away from his workplace, and put off by having to talk about it. He vowed for Lucius’ good behaviour, docile nature, and thus his capabilities for collaboration with the good researchers at the Ministry.</p><p>“And how does the Ministry plead, Mr Scot was it?” Bones turned his head to look at Edward Scot again, who was once more huffing and puffing to stand up from his seat to answer.</p><p>“Uh, the Ministry has no appeal, I mean, er, we’re fine with it… Your Honour,” Scot uttered again and sat down with a relieved thump.</p><p>The hearing was over before Harry could really process it. There was no prosecution, which reduced the time to less than half from the normal length of a trial. Judge Bones didn’t seem to have anything against the Department of Mysteries having their way, but looking severe while saying: “The court rules this case in favour of Lucius Malfoy, exonerated from the death penalty, and reducing his sentence to time served in Azkaban Prison, ten years, while sentencing him to life in Ministry confinement, details to be determined.” There was a bang of his wooden gavel on the sound block, and the next thing Harry could see was Narcissa bursting into tears, sobbing loudly while Draco was holding her awkwardly. They made eye contact, and Harry decided to give them a moment, sliding out of his seat, Hermione in tow, and into the outside corridor.</p><p>As Rivers and McGallon were taking Lucius back to the holding cells, Harry stalked behind them with Mrs Ackerman. Together they agreed to let Narcissa and Draco see Lucius before his transfer to a more permanent confinement cell. Once Lucius had been escorted back to his cell, McGallon agreed to bring ‘his wife and son’, while Rivers and Mrs Ackerman slid out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Lucius.</p><p>“Congratulations on the verdict,” Harry said simply, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning against the cell’s cold wall, not expecting to receive a response.</p><p>Lucius eyed him bitterly, but not quite as murderously as before. He was sitting on the hard bunk that was propped against the far wall, and now turned his gaze to glare at the toilet bowl. “I can’t believe you pulled it off,” he said quietly but very scathingly, as if Harry had somehow properly managed to fool the court into salvaging him.</p><p>“You’re welcome, by the way,” Harry kept his steady stare at Lucius, knowing he was reaching for something unattainable.</p><p>“So, what now?”</p><p>Harry shrugged and untangled his arms to rest on his sides. “Time will tell, and by time I mean the Auror who will supervise the enforcement of your sentence. But, I presume they will make you swear an Unbreakable so that you won’t get up to anything.” Lucius opened his mouth to what would undoubtedly have been a sharp retort, but upon hearing Narcissa’s sniffles approaching in the corridor, apparently decided to hold his tongue. Harry saw him pull a face that could have been nausea or distaste, or both. “I’ll leave you three alone,” Harry said, and stepped out of the cell to face Narcissa and Draco.</p><p>Before Harry could so much as ask them how they were, Narcissa had already thrown herself to embrace him, mumbling <em>Thank you, thank you for saving my husband</em> so many times that when she let go, Harry’s face was completely red with embarrassment. He didn’t know how to respond, but Narcissa didn’t seem to be expecting him to, and turned to follow McGallon, who gently guided her inside the cell.</p><p>Harry turned his attention to Draco, who looked even more green than before, if that was possible. His hair was slicked back, only a distant memory of what it had been just a few weeks ago – golden and soft, and his formal robes made him look weary. “Hey,” Harry said softly, taking Draco’s hand in the empty corridor, “you don’t have to do this.”</p><p>“I want to,” Draco replied, a resolute look in his eyes, even if he looked quite ill.</p><p>Harry sighed, he hated that there was nothing he could do to make the situation at least a little less horrible. “Okay, good luck, then,” he said, and gave the man’s hand a gentle squeeze, “I’ll see you at home.” He had an intense urge to cradle Draco forever, just snatch him away from all harm, if only for a little while, it’s what he deserved. But alas, he let go of Harry’s hand and straightened himself, a mixture of anxiety and determination on his face.</p><p>Harry watched Draco’s black robes swish behind him as he marched inside the cell, before he himself Apparated back home.</p><p>***</p><p>Two hours later, Harry had had at least four mugs of tea (chamomile since Hermione always advertised its calming effects, though Harry couldn't say he felt them), had managed to tidy up his kitchen somewhat, and arranged his sock drawer by colour ranging from various dark shades to black and then to grey. Just when Harry had started to wonder what was taking Draco so long – perhaps Lucius had managed to hex his ears off somehow and he was now in St. Mungo’s getting them fixed – he heard the Floo go downstairs, and leapt down the steps to see Draco stumble out of the fireplace in Harry’s living room, and sink down on the sofa like he was never going to get up again.</p><p>Harry flicked his wand for the kettle to turn itself on while passing the kitchen, and walked in the living room to meet Draco, sitting beside him, and gently taking his hand into his own, but not saying anything. They sat like that and minutes passed, the old grandfather clock ticking away in the otherwise silent room, the only other sound being the chirps of the birds outside infiltrating the silence – a gentle but perhaps inappropriate reminder that elsewhere, life was still going on.</p><p>Eventually, the kettle in the kitchen started whistling, which seemed to pull both of them out of their thoughts. Draco jerked his head up to look at Harry, who was now shuffling up and towards the kitchen. He dunked the black tea bag in the mugs for perhaps a little too long while waiting for Draco to say something. When it was still silent, he returned to the living room with the two mugs, and handed the other to Draco. “Milk and some sugar, I thought you needed it,” he said quietly.</p><p>Draco nodded and wrapped his long fingers around the warm mug, giving apprehensive looks towards Harry, scanning his face for signs that he would start interviewing Draco about the events of the last two hours. But Harry wasn’t going to. “Aren’t you going to ask how it went?” Draco finally inquired, and took a careful sip of his milky tea, which he still seemed to detest.</p><p>“I just assumed you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Harry replied calmly, and pulled his legs into his lap on the couch, managing to not spill any tea on himself. He had changed out of his robes into some dark blue sweatpants and a grey hoodie, which both felt four sizes too large compared to the snug fit of the official Auror vest and trousers.</p><p>Draco gave a deep sigh and turned his attention to the carpet, though his expression seemed distant. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” he took another sip of the tea, as to confirm his disliking for the pale liquid, though now he seemed not to notice it anymore, “it was weird seeing him again, after all these years. It was like he was never gone at all, except… except he didn’t seem to want to be there, with us.”</p><p>Lucius’ words echoed in Harry’s mind: <em>They don’t care about me.</em> After Narcissa’s teary performance, Harry thought, even Lucius had to believe that he had been missed, hell, even Draco had showed up to meet him, and he hadn’t visited Azkaban to see him in years, maybe ever. “It’s hard to return, I suppose,” Harry said, trying not to think of the little fact that he’d told Lucius about him and Draco when he visited him, “when you’ve been away for so long. He’ll come around.”</p><p>Draco let out an unsure humming sound, still drinking his tea absentmindedly.</p><p>Harry took a deep breath, his heart sped up. “I have to tell you something,” he confessed, trying not to wipe his hands on his sweatpants. Draco’s eyes jerked up to scan him suspiciously. It didn’t make sense to hide it, Draco would find out eventually, and no matter how it would go down it would be worse than just coming out with it. “I told Lucius about us, I know it wasn’t my place, and I’m really sorry,” Harry said quickly, wanting the confession out of his chest as fast as possible. What he’d done had been reckless, unfair towards Draco <em>and</em> towards Lucius, too.</p><p>Draco was quiet for a while, though he seemed to turn a little paler. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and Harry was afraid he’d get up and leave. He didn’t have any idea what he could do if Draco just pissed off now. After a few seconds though, he just settled at letting out a very deep sigh, one that sent a pang of guilt through Harry. “Well that explains why he didn’t seem to care whether he was alive or dead, though I wish you’d let me or mother tell him, at the right time.”</p><p>Harry cringed internally and thought that it would really be a supreme time for the ground to swallow him forever. “<em>Would</em> there be a right time?” he asked, a lump stuck in his throat.</p><p>Draco sighed again, and seemed to sink deeper into the sofa, clutching the now almost empty tea mug. “No, I suppose not,” he mumbled.</p><p>Harry took another deep breath, and leaned forward to gently place his hand on Draco’s forearm. “Listen, Draco, I really am sorry. I know there’s no excuse, but the reason I told him was that he thought I had hurt you or your mum somehow, and it just came out, I couldn’t help it.”</p><p>Draco seemed to pull himself together, and he sat up straighter. “Well at least you saved me the trouble of suffering through it myself,” he said as he set the mug out of his hands onto the coffee table in front of them, “How did he take it then?”</p><p>Harry felt himself redden on the face. “Er… well… he didn't jump up and down from glee, to be honest.” He didn’t know how else to put it, quoting Lucius verbatim about what he’d said about Harry’s ‘freakish ways’ didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment.</p><p>“To be fair, he rarely did that,” Draco snorted humourlessly.</p><p>Harry suppressed a relieved smile rippling at the corner of his mouth. “Right. But he loves you, I know he does, he’ll come around eventually.” At least he hoped, for Draco’s sake.</p><p>“I suppose,” Draco murmured, not sounding very convinced, “at any rate, I think a thank you is in order for what you did today.”</p><p>Now Harry blushed even more, he didn’t want to be thanked for anything after what he’d done. “Well, <em>I</em> hardly did anything today,” he murmured. It wasn’t untrue, exactly. It was Mrs Ackerman who had done all the lawyering, and Hermione, who had tracked down most of the people willing to testify for Lucius, even if they didn't go through with it in the end.</p><p>“You know what I mean,” Draco said and turned to look at Harry, his eyes bright but weary.</p><p>Harry nodded awkwardly. “Yes, I do, but I was only doing what was right.” Apparently he had to say it anyway, as always.</p><p>Draco’s lips pursed as he fell back into the sofa with a tired huff. “I just… I wish I didn't have to feel so indebted to you all the time.”</p><p>“You’re not indebted to me, Draco,” Harry said firmly, but his eyes were darting around the room, not wanting to settle on the blond man. Harry hated the very idea of him holding something over Draco, and he hated that either of them would feel that way.</p><p>“But I am!” Draco cried, “For all the times you’ve saved my life, saved my parents’ life.” His arms were limp beside him as he stared at the ceiling, his black robes now wrinkled and drooping on his body.</p><p>Harry cleared his throat. “To be fair, <em>you</em> also saved <em>my</em> life, in the Manor, and before that I almost killed you in that bathroom, so, I guess that makes us even.”</p><p>Draco didn’t seem convinced, but managed a quiet “Does it?”, even if it was just to entertain Harry.</p><p>Harry sighed and grabbed both of Draco’s hand into his own, hoping they weren’t too clammy. Draco’s hands were cold and dry. The motion seemed to startle the man into looking at him in the eye. “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve given me, Draco. Have you any idea how miserable my life was before you walked into my office?” Harry professed.</p><p>“You… didn't seem miserable,” Draco replied apprehensively, but didn’t let go.</p><p>“I suppose I didn’t know I was, but looking back… <em>this </em>is what I want,” Harry squeezed Draco’s hands gently but firmly, and couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, “you make me happy, you make me so <em>so</em> happy, I just wish you’d see how much.”</p><p>Draco didn’t respond, but for the first time it seemed to be because he wasn’t able to. His silvery eyes were wide and glistening as he stared back at Harry, his mouth opening and closing, before he apparently decided there was nothing to be said.</p><p>“And, more importantly,” Harry continued, feeling like the words were just gushing out of him at this point, “I want to make <em>you </em>happy. Because you deserve to be happy, even when I know you don’t think so, but you do. God I wish you could see me like I see you, it’s like everything makes more sense when I’m with you. I have a reason for being, and the reason is to love <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Draco’s cheeks were pink and damp as he was nodding slowly and lifting Harry’s hands to his lips to kiss them. Harry found that his own eyes were burning with tears too, and he didn't want to let go of Draco to wipe the first hot streak off his face. He gently pulled the blond man into his lap, and ran his hands up his sides to eventually tangle in his hair, looking straight into his grey eyes. Draco was a warm weight against him, soft skin making Harry want to kiss him all over.</p><p>Harry nuzzled Draco’s neck and kissed it, a small “Oh,” escaping the man’s lips. Harry lowered his hand to softly cup Draco’s face as he kept kissing along his neck and jaw. When he moved to his lips, both of them hovered there for a second, eyes closed, breathing each other in, before Harry planted the first kiss, light as a feather, on Draco’s lips. And then another, and another. Finally, their lips were gliding together, wet and soft and very very wonderful. As he was gently rubbing circles in Draco’s bare side under his robes, Harry thought that there was nowhere he’d rather be at this moment, and that he’d perhaps like to kiss Malfoy for the rest of his life.</p><p>***</p><p>“To freedom!” Hermione declared as she lifted her crystal champagne glass in toast.</p><p><em>To freedom</em> echoed Ron, Harry, and Draco, clinking their glasses together. “And to a job very adequately done, Granger. I mean, er, Hermione,” Draco fumbled, but managed to extract a friendly grin from Hermione. “My mother sends her most sincere thanks, I suspect she’s planning on sending some horrid thank you present in the form of a fruit basket or something of the sort,” Draco pulled a face, “but in all seriousness, I can’t thank you enough, all of you, for saving my father. He didn’t deserve it, but you helped him anyway. Bloody Gryffindors,” he added with a smirk.</p><p>Hermione snorted and took a small sip from her glass while rolling her eyes. “You and your family are welcome, but we were only doing what was right,” she said in one of her more righteous tones. Draco sneaked a meaningful glance in Harry’s direction, clearly thinking <em>Bloody Gryffindors</em> again, as Hermione repeated the exact same words Harry had earlier in the day.</p><p>When Draco turned his attention back to Hermione, he suddenly looked a tad nervous. “Actually, Gr– Hermione, may I speak to you in private?” he asked, to everyone’s surprise, clearly Hermione’s as well.</p><p>She quickly smoothed out her expression into polite openness, and replied, “Sure, this way.” She motioned Draco to follow her into the corridor and into a room Harry remembered to be a study, or perhaps a pantry.</p><p>Ron turned to look at Harry, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and suspicion. “Dare I ask what on Merlin’s green earth is <em>Malfoy</em> doing with <em>my wife</em>?” he asked sourly, eyes drilling into the closed door from behind the brim of his glass.</p><p>The word <em>mudblood </em>sprang into Harry’s mind, but he didn’t think it best to go too much into that memory, so he tried to be as vague about it as possible. “Er… I think this might be a case of an apology from his side,” he articulated carefully, “I think Draco’s on foot to right some wrongs, doubt you’ll be next though.”</p><p>“Cursed if I am,” Ron huffed and drained his glass angrily only for it to fill itself again, “hell can freeze over a thousand times before I’m left alone with that git.” As soon as he’d said it, though, he gave Harry a guilty sideways glance, neck going red, “sorry, it’s just… hard to think of him as anything but <em>Malfoy</em>, you know?”</p><p>Harry nodded and stared at his glass awkwardly, not really knowing what to say to Ron in one direction or the other. He couldn’t very well just tell him to get over it, thinking how long it had taken himself to get used to the idea. Thinking of Malfoy as <em>Draco</em>, just Draco. He was still in the transition stage, and even now, sometimes found himself thinking of Draco as Malfoy, especially when he was being a wanker, which was quite often. But he was <em>Harry’s</em> wanker, and that was the crucial difference in viewing Draco through Harry’s versus Ron’s eyes.</p><p>Now Ron was shifting from one foot to the other. “But, I suppose,” he continued stiffly, “you know, since he seems important to you, I can, er, try to get along with him, starting now,” Ron obviously tried to hold back from gritting his teeth, “even if he is a grade-A tosser.”</p><p>An almost relieved smile spread on Harry’s face as he measured his best friend with his eyes. “Thanks Ron, you know I love you right?”</p><p>Ron grinned back, and then pulled a face to annoy Harry. “But not that way, right? Because you know I love you too but I got a good thing going with Hermione here and I–“</p><p>“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Harry interrupted, sniggering, and drained his own glass. He was feeling the low buzz of alcohol run through his limbs, but wasn’t nearly drunk enough to hear about the shared love life of his two best childhood friends, emphasis on childhood.</p><p>Ron made an offended cackling sound. “I’ll have you know I’m a great catch!”</p><p>“I’m not denying that!” Harry defended, and then continued, more softly, “I’m just into someone else right now.”</p><p>“Thank Merlin, I’m safe for now,” Ron pretended to pat sweat from his forehead, “but also, ew. Not because of the gay thing, because of the Malfoy thing.”</p><p>“Thanks Ron, I think I got it,” Harry replied, unsure whether to be offended or amused by his best friends’ running commentary on his love life.</p><p>Some ten minutes later, Draco and Hermione emerged again, seeming suspiciously comradely, grinning at each other, and when Draco leaned closer to Hermione to say something in a low voice, she burst into a loud giggle, trying to cover it up by lifting a hand over her mouth.</p><p>“That’s it, I’m going in,” Ron huffed, set down his glass and strode over to wrap his arm around Hermione’s waist. Draco’s smile shifted from genuine to more on the polite side, but eyed the pair of them more solemnly than he probably ever had. But when Draco turned his gaze towards Harry, gentle and open, Harry’s heart skipped several beats. That could be them, in no time at all, living in a house together, domestic like Ron and Hermione were.</p><p>Hermione saved Harry from blushing too much, saying, “The chicken casserole will be ready in a minute,” she gave Draco a meaningful look, “Harry’s favourite,” she added, and Draco’s eyes shot to look at him again, amused, this time. “Ron, would you please set the table?” Hermione asked, pinching his side and detaching herself from his half-embrace as he flinched away from her finger and thumb. “Would you boys get Rosie? I think she’s still napping in her room.”</p><p>Harry nodded and headed for the stairs obediently, walking up the steps, Draco stalking up behind him. Harry navigated to the second door on the right side of the corridor; it was ajar, and Harry peered inside. The evening sun was painting the room in tones of gold and orange, and Harry identified Rosie as the lump in her small bed, curly hair fanned over the pillow.</p><p>He walked over to the bed, and sat on its side, gently shaking her shoulder to wake her. “Wakey, wakey, Rosie, sweetheart,” Harry mused quietly, “your mum says dinner’s ready.”</p><p>Rosie gave a huge yawn and sat up sleepily in her bed, rubbing her eyes as she did so, huge hair just a puff of curls around her. When her eyes focused on Harry, she seemed to cheer up instantly, declaring her usual “Uncle Hawwyyy!” and immediately clinging to Harry’s left arm from where she was sitting. Harry gave her an awkward hug back, it was a weird position to give a hug, anyway.</p><p>They pulled apart. “How are you sweetie?” Harry asked, ruffling her already chaos of a hair, “Have you still gone flying with your dad?”</p><p>“Yes!” she announced gleefully, “I… I flew with my bwoom in the backyawd the whooooole day, mum says I fly so much I’m gonna forget how to walk, but it doesn’t bother me because then I can just fly evewywhere!” Rosie accompanied her enthusiastic narration with large hand movements that nearly swept Harry’s glasses off his face a couple times.</p><p>Harry heard himself laugh so warmly that it was immediately followed by a sting of longing for something similar of his own: being able to teach his own kid to fly, having them be so excited by it they wouldn’t care to walk anywhere ever again, be a good parent and offer a loving home, something he never had. But right now, he just hugged Rosie again. “Can’t argue with that logic, pumpkin. Now, should we go downstairs to have dinner with mommy and daddy?”</p><p>“Piggyback!!!” Rosie squeaked excitedly, and got up to stand on the covers, sticking her arms up in the air very determinedly.</p><p>Harry grinned, but feigned defeat. “Oh, you’ve persuaded me with your cunning ways, hop on,” he said, and turned his back to Rosie, who climbed aboard expertly.</p><p>They stood up and Rosie peered over Harry’s shoulder at Malfoy, who had been monitoring the situation from the doorway, his expression unreadable. Harry was just about to sink into another internal back-and-forth about whether he should ask him about having kids, when Rosie’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “A-ha, Dwaco Malfoy,” she stated like she had just identified a rare bird or a flower.</p><p>Draco’s face split into an amused smile, and he straightened his posture from where he had been hunching against the doorframe. “Pleasure to meet you again, Miss Rose,” he smiled politely and bowed – bowed! ­– his head the tiniest bit, his blond hair falling on his face.</p><p>Rosie giggled, and then leaned into Harry’s ear to whisper, “I like him… white hair, like a pwincess,” in a voice that, although quiet, was clearly audible to everyone present. Before Harry, despite his best efforts not to, burst into laughter, Rosie already ushered him forward.</p><p>“Come on, princess!” he hollered after Malfoy, who followed them downstairs, rolling his eyes while doing so.</p><p>***</p><p>The evening ended up being quite nice, the five of them eating and drinking in relative harmony, even sharing a few hearty bursts of laughter. After an improbably agreeable evening, when they were hanging about in the doorway, still talking, Hermione suddenly said: “By the way, Draco, I heard that you’ve been offered a position at Hogwarts,” she started, giving one of her trademark infuriatingly knowing looks at Draco, “for what it’s worth, I think you should take it, if you already haven’t, it would suit you very nicely.”</p><p>Draco turned a shade of red. “Er, thank you, Hermione,” he replied, clearly bemused by the sudden change of topic, “I’ve actually been thinking of accepting, after long deliberation. I suspect being self-employed didn’t much suit me.”</p><p>Harry turned to Draco so fast he almost had whiplash, “You have? Why didn’t you say anything to me?” After all, <em>he </em>had been the one to pester him about it all those times.</p><p>“Well, you two obviously have lots to talk about, so we won’t keep you any longer,” Hermione interjected before Harry could launch a full interview about why on earth Draco hadn’t <em>told him</em> that he was going to <em>take the job.</em> She grinned very non-apologetically, clearly aware of the conversation she had now instigated, “can of worms and all, sorry about that.”</p><p>Apparating straight into Harry’s bedroom did not hinder the conversation now picking up, even if Harry’s stomach was feeling a bit queasy from the Side-Along. “I tried to talk you into taking that position for Merlin knows how many times, now a few words from Hermione and you’re suddenly jumping at the opportunity? I’m positively wounded,” Harry scolded Draco, scowling, not sure if he was being entirely serious or not.</p><p>“Relax, Harry, I was already thinking about it before,” Draco huffed and collapsed onto Harry’s bed, spreading his arms to either side.</p><p>“And you didn’t think to mention it <em>before</em>?” Harry insisted, but now sighing tiredly, laying on his side beside Draco, one of the man’s arms squished between his side and the covers. He made a complaining sound but didn’t try to pull his limb away.</p><p>“I was a bit busy before,” Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, “and like I said, I’d already been <em>thinking</em> about it… not like I already made up my mind.” Now he made a valiant attempt at freeing his arm from under Harry, only succeeding when Harry lifted himself off the appendage.</p><p>“And <em>have</em> you? Made up your mind?” Harry now inquired, finding that his heart was beating faster than normal.</p><p>Draco’s face scrunched up and he pursed his lips while staring at the ceiling. “I think I have,” he said eventually, but didn’t continue.</p><p>“<em>And</em>?” Harry pressed when he realized that a follow-up was non-forthcoming. He was getting frustrated.</p><p>Now Draco sighed. “And… even though I love Italy, it’s very solitary, and I think I’d like to return to England. It <em>is</em> my home, after all.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Harry blurted out, “It won’t be as peaceful, and the weather’s not as nice, and… people know who you are here.”</p><p>“Yes, they do,” Draco said quietly, more to himself than anyone, “but I think it’s time for me to be Draco Malfoy – Head of Slytherin House instead of just Draco Malfoy – former Death Eater, don’t you think? Besides, I don’t think I care for the solitary life anymore, I think I’ve met someone worth abandoning that for,” he turned his head to look at Harry, underlining his implication that was already hanging in the air quite clearly.</p><p>Harry tried to fight through blushing and the butterflies that were now going mad in his stomach. “Just remember that at your first Weasley family dinner,” he grimaced and poked Draco on his side.</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “<em>Harry</em>… I’m trying to be romantic here,” he said, but the sarcasm usually accompanying these kinds of statements was absent from his voice.</p><p>“I know,” Harry replied, finding the butterflies in his stomach almost unbearable, “I’m proud of you, really, for everything, and for taking the next step, as well. It can’t be easy.”</p><p>When Draco just shrugged and turned back to stare at the ceiling, mumbling something that might have resembled a <em>Thank you</em> and folding his hands under his head on the bed, Harry decided to ask the one thing he’d been wondering for ages already. At least it felt like ages. “Just off the topic, nothing to do with anything at all, but… how do you feel about kids?” Harry felt his ears flame up bright red, but persisted in measuring Draco’s face for signs of repulsion.</p><p>Draco also went a bit red, but rose to lean on his elbows, keeping his stare fixed on the wall in front of him. “Don’t you think we should get a bigger place together, first? Heh.”</p><p>“Merlin, I didn’t mean <em>now</em>,” Harry rolled his eyes, and felt the red spread from his ears to the rest of his face, “but… maybe in the future?”</p><p>Draco sighed inscrutably. “I always imagined myself having kids, no reason for that to change. I just always imagined having them with some pure-blood dark-haired hottie.” Harry didn’t know if Draco was telling the truth or taking the piss, but nonetheless he felt a weight lifted from his chest, and he cracked a relieved smile.</p><p>“Well, I <em>am </em>a dark-haired hottie, so that ticks two of the three boxes.”</p><p>Where Harry had expected Draco to roll his eyes or glare at him, he turned to Harry, looking very gentle, and said, “That’s more than enough for me.” Before Harry could blush, or splutter, or otherwise produce any other type of reaction, Draco smiled, and rolled over to trap Harry under him, and kiss him very slowly, but possessively, like for the first time it actually meant something.</p><p>“So… about this place we’re going to get,” Harry smirked after they detached themselves from each other, panting just the slightest, his hand still tangled up in Draco’s hair, “do you prefer the city or the countryside?”</p><p>Draco rolled off of Harry, and stared at the ceiling contently, “Countryside, definitely countryside.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Five years later.</em>
</p><p>The last sunrays of the day were making the thick sheath of snow glisten in gold and orange, making the fields and naked trees glitter brightly. It was only approaching 4pm, but the sun was already descending behind the thick forest on the far right. The lake that could usually be clearly seen to the house in the summertime, was now just a steady mirror of ice, and one couldn’t see the marks of ice skates on it even if they squinted very hard.</p><p>Inside the large sitting room, it was cosy though, with bright flames crackling away in the fireplace, candles everywhere, and the large Christmas tree decorated so voluminously that one could barely see the tree behind the decorations. Draco had to admit he might have overdone it, if not otherwise, then by Harry’s doubtful expression when he came home. Noah liked it though, and he and Draco had agreed that Harry just had poor taste when it came to matter of holiday decorations.</p><p>Speaking of the devil, now the little bugger blast into the room, wearing the very neat – and very expensive – formal robes Draco had gotten him. “Daaaaad,” Noah wailed and stomped across the room to Draco, who was reading in a large armchair in the corner of the room, “these robes are itchy,” he complained, scratching his neck under the collar.</p><p>Draco put his book away, and couldn’t help smiling at the sight of him: a little blond boy, five years old, standing in the middle of a heavily decorated sitting room, wearing dark green formal robes with gold embellishments. Maybe it was a bit much, but Draco thought he looked so handsome.</p><p>He and Harry had adopted Noah just shy of two years ago, when he was three, and oh how happy Draco had been – and smug while he knew Harry was only feigning irritation – when he was revealed to have a silvery hair, almost white, very similar to Draco’s. Sometimes, though he knew he was only imagining it, he could see some physical similarities between himself and his son. Adopted or not, he loved Noah to pieces, more than he thought he could love anyone, well, besides Harry, and he remembered him and Harry positively tearing up when they had had their adoption application accepted.</p><p>The day they had gone to pick up Noah to bring him home, the way to the foster house had been very quiet and anxious, but as soon as they had brought him home, and he’d started playing peacefully with a toy Hippogriff Harry had bought for him, there had been a silent sigh of relief, and everything after that had gone smoother than any of them could have predicted. They had both been at home for a few weeks, getting to know their new son, and making sure he was settling in well.</p><p>Noah had been quiet at first, but during his first few months in his new home, he’d turned out to be quite the active boy, and for his first birthday at the Malfoy-Potter residence, Harry had gotten him a toy broomstick. They were both excited to see that Noah took to flying instantly, hovering and flying about only a few centimetres off the ground. Ever since then they had been quite the trio, dazzling old ladies at Diagon Alley, a former Death Eater turned good and the Chosen One, with their son between them. They had had to turn down dozens of interviews – ‘it’s just not the right time, we’re focusing on family at the moment’ had been the official statement both Harry and Draco were already sick and tired of repeating.</p><p>Eventually, though, the heat had died down, and they had been left alone, the three of them, still getting used to each other. Draco had had trouble thinking of himself as a father, and calling Harry ‘dad’ in front of their son, but he supposed none of them really knew what they were doing – this became clear after various conversations with Granger and Weasley, who had to admit that they were also just winging it. So that’s what they’d been doing, just winging it, quite successfully so far, in Draco’s opinion.</p><p>Now Draco smiled at Noah as he measured him up and down, “It’s itchy because the robes are made of the finest wool, gathered from sheep who live in the pure air of the mountains.” At least, that’s what the sales witch at Madam Mooney’s had convinced him of, before ripping him off grandly.</p><p>“Why are the fancy sheep so scratchy then?” Noah demanded, face scrunching up, as he returned his arm to his side and moved to scratch from under his sleeve.</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes, and was just about to deliver some retort, when he heard Harry trampling his way down the wooden stairs in the foyer and into the sitting room as well. Draco felt himself go a bit red, he still did whenever Harry looked especially good, and right now, he did, by Salazar. He was wearing a pale green jumper, neat and soft without being frizzy – Draco had picked it out for him last Christmas – that really brought out his eyes. His hair was still all over the place, as per usual, but over the years he had learnt a few spells that made it a little less so, and tonight it was almost orderly.</p><p>“Why does <em>dad</em> get to wear a jumper, and <em>I </em>have to wear these horrible itchy robes?” Noah crossed his arms in protest and raised his eyebrows in such an infuriating manner that it was only possible he had copied it from Draco himself – the unofficial king of pulling infuriating looks.</p><p>Draco glanced at Harry to back him up, but the git just shrugged in amused defeat. He really didn’t know how to be the strict parent, that part always fell to Draco, blast it. “Fine,” he huffed, but rolled his eyes affectionately, “why don’t you go change into the sweater Mrs Weasley made you last year? Do you know where it is?” Draco suggested, and Noah nodded his head eagerly, already darting out of the room and up the steps.</p><p>Where did Molly find those sheep with the soft wool, Draco wondered absentmindedly, as his eyes were drawn to Harry, who was left standing awkwardly in the doorway. “When will they be here?” Draco asked and got up from his chair, closing the distance between him and his husband.</p><p>Harry’s eyes trailed his movements. “In a few minutes, I suppose, everything’s ready in the dining room.”</p><p>“Then I have a few minutes to tell you how absolutely handsome you look right now,” Draco smirked and already placed his hand in Harry’s neck, kissing him on his cheek. He smelled so very lovely, earthy and sweet, Draco pushed a kiss behind Harry’s ear.</p><p>“Mh-m,” Harry sighed, “you need a few minutes for that?” he whispered, sounding amused.</p><p>“No,” Draco hummed, “the few minutes are for this,” he moved to kiss Harry’s lips. They were soft, and willing, and the kiss was so familiar and warm that Draco just wanted to sink into it forever. It was nothing like when they first got together, all heat and passion – it was better, it was home. Draco clutched Harry in his arms softly but firmly, opening his mouth more and letting their tongues glide against each other in the kiss that was becoming way too hot way too fast.</p><p>Four years ago, in the spring, when Draco was finishing up his first year as the Head of Slytherin house and as the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and Harry had first had the idea that he would like to train new Aurors, there had been an evening. An evening Draco had so carefully planned, and nervously prepared. He had made dinner at Harry’s old place – or something of the sort, he wasn’t really into cooking back then – and had lit a few dozen candles in the kitchen for when Harry got home. He had chilled the champagne, and dressed in his best robes, done his hair, and double, triple, quadruple checked that the ring box was in his pocket, before pacing around the house, waiting for Harry to arrive.</p><p>But, alas, it had all gone to shit, for when Harry had gotten home, an hour late when the dinner was already cold, Draco didn’t care: instead of yelling at him, or giving him the silent treatment, he had decided that he just didn’t want to do that sort of thing anymore, he wanted something else entirely, and he had sunken on his knees right there, in the corridor, and fumbled for the ring in his pocket to present to Harry, hands shaking, and nervously mumbled something in the direction of ‘Harry Potter, will you please marry me?’ and Harry, cheeks red from the cold air outside, still wearing his outer robes, had looked at him dazed, eyes wide, and then extracted another ring box from his own pocket, also going down on his knees, and presenting Draco with the most beautifully subtle silver ring, asking him to be his husband. That night had been a blissfully chaotic bungle of a romantic proposal, but they had both ended up frantically nodding and somewhere between a snog and a hug, before pissing off to have sex upstairs, the rings already on their fingers.</p><p>Now a sharp knock at the door made Draco pull away from his kiss with Harry, and give an annoyed glance at the front door. “It’s them,” Harry said, still looking at Draco’s lips. He planted one last peck on them before smoothing out his own hair, and making a start for the large front doors to welcome Ron and Hermione, with Rosie, Hugo, and Ben in tow.</p><p>“Now, we’re guests at Harry and Draco’s okay? So no funny business, I mean you especially, Hugo,” Hermione’s stern voice could be heard clearly from the doorway, and Draco considered their share of being the strict parent– the thing he had most in common with her than Harry or Ron – the lazy, lenient dads. Blast it all.</p><p>“Harry! Mate! Merry Christmas,” came Ron’s relieved voice as Draco joined the lot in the foyer. They were all wearing various holiday outfits, with puffy coats and knitted wool hats. Ron was handing a bottle of wine to Draco, who accepted it with a polite smile and a ‘thank you’, followed by a ‘Merry Christmas’, which started a wave of everyone saying <em>Merry Christmas </em>back and forth. They then ushered their guests in from the cold, Hermione holding their youngest’s hand while he wobbled inside, large eyes peeking from between his huge coat and his hat, looking around. Ron was carrying a large tote bag filled with presents haphazardly wrapped. “The usual delivery from mum, and from us, of course,” he said as he handed the shipment to Harry.</p><p>While the lot were peeling off their layers, Noah ran down the steps, wearing his deep blue Weasley sweater with a large N on the front of it. His hair was already a mess, but Draco decided to let it go, it was Christmas Eve after all. He remembered too many holidays from his childhood that included horribly itchy woollen robes and extra strong hair gel. His son could whatever he wanted, and not worry about his hair, and now he and Hugo were already running back up the steps to play in his room. They were the same age, and would go to Hogwarts at the same time. Sometimes Draco wondered if they’d be in the same house, and which house his son would make it to. He always concluded that it wouldn’t matter to him, as long as he was happy.</p><p>Naturally, Draco’s father wished for Noah to be sorted into Slytherin, that had been made painfully clear the first time he’d met his grandchild. It had taken Lucius until early the same year before he’d agreed to step inside their house to meet Noah, even though the Ministry would have allowed him to do so earlier. When he eventually did, Draco could see his eyes soften for a moment when he saw Noah’s blond head emerge into the room, before they hardened again. The Malfoy line would not be continued as such, and that did not make Draco’s father happy, but he didn’t care. He was happy when he never thought he could be. Harry, the insufferably noble and kind-hearted bastard had turned it all upside down.</p><p>Narcissa had visited Noah only a few months after he’d settled in, and had adored him since the first time she set eyes on him. She had declared that any child loved by Draco would be loved by her, and that she only wished them happiness, and more grandchildren. Noah was in the danger of being spoilt rotten by his grandmother, and more often than not Draco had to swoop in and talk his mother out of whatever insensible present she was going to get him.</p><p>Now Rose had taken Ben under her wing, and was patiently presenting him with various Christmas decorations, with the little boy’s eyes wide with curiosity towards the shining gold and different sized bells he loved to shake.</p><p>As for the adults, they were sitting around the kitchen island, having some hot mulled wine and enjoying a nice, quiet conversation that didn’t involve talking about Santa’s wish lists, new broom models, or anything else that had been the hot topic with their kids for the past two months.</p><p>“I have to say, you knocked it out of the park with the decorations again this year Draco,” Hermione said as she lifted the mug to her lips, “I assume you did all this once again? I can’t remember one Christmas where Harry would have actually decorated.”</p><p>“Heeeey–“ Harry started, but Draco interrupted his rather pathetic objection.</p><p>“Thank you for recognizing my efforts, Hermione. You’re right, even if Harry here had any taste – which, of course, he doesn’t – I don’t think there’s anything that would get him to actually go through the effort of conjuring all this up.”</p><p>“I just don’t see the point, when you have to take it all down again anyway,” Harry continued heatedly as if he had never been interrupted. At this point, Ron seemed more preoccupied with his wine than the conversation, as Harry would have probably been too if he wasn’t the one under fire.</p><p>“Ah, your logic once again is impeccable, my dearest one,” Draco rolled his eyes sarcastically, “what is the point of eating since you have to do it again anyway? What is the point of ever dressing when you’re going to undress again in the evening? The answer to this, of course,” Draco continued before Harry could cut him off with some tenuous comment about how ‘it wasn’t the same thing’, “is that the time in the middle matters, my point being, Christmas won’t come unless you make it yourself.”</p><p>There was a silence that almost lasted too long for Draco’s comfort, with everyone apparently trying to process the logic behind Draco’s tangent, before Hermione shrugged in agreement. “Draco’s right, and what with your lovely house, it would be a shame to not decorate it. Honestly, I have no clue how you managed to find something so charming.”</p><p>Draco smiled politely, and felt a red colour spread to his neck. The answer to that, of course, was money, and lots of it. But it seemed that both him and Harry were too embarrassed to ever mention it to anyone. Besides, when they had agreed to make an offer, they had also agreed to never tell anyone how they got it, or what it cost.</p><p>It had been shortly after they got engaged that they decided to look for a place together. Draco was basically either living with his mother, or with Harry, and his closet was just too damn small for Draco’s possessions. <em>And</em> they had already talked about moving to the countryside, <em>and </em>they were getting married. It was only sensible to buy a house, only, there weren’t many nice residences near London that didn’t need to be completely renovated. So they had searched further, since they would just Floo to work anyway, so the commute wasn’t really a problem.</p><p>Finally, after months of looking, Harry had found a house, in the countryside, near a lovely Muggle village, in the middle of the fields and overlooking a large lake. But it was wildly out of their price range. Once they had gotten there, though, there were little arguments besides money that they could produce to <em>not </em>at least put out an offer. It was an old rectangular stone building, symmetrical on both sides, with rows of windows on either side of the large entrance doors. The house had two stories, and a sun deck in the back, with four bedrooms, a study, a large kitchen, a living room, a sunny breakfast slash sitting room, a dining room, a large foyer, three bathrooms, the list went on.</p><p>After what would have been a heated conversation, if either of them would have had solid arguments against making an offer, they went through with it, after which they marched straight into Gringotts, like sensible people do, and applied for a mortgage. It was all worth it, even though they would be paying off the loan for two decades to come.</p><p>That night they exchanged presents, shared a hearty meal with too much wine and definitely too much dessert, laughed and watched as their children all played a game together that was an early Christmas present from Draco’s mother, and as their ways parted, past midnight, and Hermione was carrying Ben, who had been asleep for at least three hours by then, and as Harry closed the door behind them and turned to Draco, instead of wishing him merry Christmas, he said, “I think I want another one.” And, if Draco had been as slow on the uptake as Harry always was, he would have asked ‘another what?’. But it already dawned on him, and it was safe to say that it was the best Christmas present he’d ever had, until of course the next Christmas, when they actually got to bring home their daughter, Ava, whose hair was as black as the night sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this story is now also available in wattpad under my user gglow_ao3 :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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